


Lyrium Wolves

by TiJae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiJae/pseuds/TiJae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't carry a tune, but she enjoys dancing whether it's wielding her twin blades or stepping lively to old ditties in a tavern with a tankard of ale sloshing over her hand. Relationships are also a dance—sometimes harmonious, flowing from each moment to the next with great finesse and sometimes a graceless, discordant stomp across already-scarred hearts. This is the dance of a Fifth Blight refugee-turned-city champion and the elf who claimed her heart along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a weak, weak being when it comes to Fenris and Zevran, who proved enticing enough that I gave writing fan fiction a shot for the first time during NaNoWriMo 2012. Figured 3+ years spent waffling over sharing it is probably procrastination enough.

 Exiting the depths of hell was like being born again. He realized it was all right to still be conscious; he had reason to wish for it. Dancing through the leaves overhead, dappled sun fell onto his upturned face as wispy clouds loitered above. He inhaled deeply of fresh air and soaked in the sound of birds chirping and wildlife rustling the underbrush. Having finally escaped the underground labyrinth, the serenity which welcomed the group was nothing like the horrors they'd emerged from. Two of the three faced irrevocably altered lives now and no amount of riches from plundering the Deep Roads could ever fill the aching void or mend battered hearts.

She stumbled to one knee beside him, braced herself with one hand on the ground and let her head hang and shoulders droop for the span of several breaths.

"Of all the possibilities, how fitting a mockery that sunshine greets us topside," she murmured hoarsely through parched lips. Their small supply of water dried up two days ago and their food, three.

The dwarf heaved a sorrowful sigh. His friend, his Sunshine died down there, and he would never think of the word he'd used for her nickname the same way again. But for the human woman next to him, it meant she'd lost her only sister, her last sibling. They could have helped her, reached the surface and possible aid more quickly (if such a thing as the blight can be cured) if his greedy brother hadn't betrayed them, trapping them in an ancient dwarven ruin with only their bedrolls, some emergency rations and their chosen weapons on their backs while the bulk of their supplies and the rest of the crew remained with the traitor. And that, he would avenge personally. Bartrand would suffer for Bethany's death even if he hadn't put the knife to her chest himself.

No, in fact, her sister did as Bethany asked—pleaded, really—and the moment the blade slipped between the younger woman's ribs, he saw something inside his trusted partner break. Darkspawn took their brother not long ago and now their taint claimed his twin, her best friend. She did not weep, and she did not shudder. She did not shy away from the duty bestowed on her with agonized breath. The light drained from her in a horrible rush; her deep blue eyes clouded over, roiling with a new darkness, a new hate. She shrouded herself in wounded silence where a witty tongue once offered tuneless songs and terrible jokes freely. His brother had taken far more than an ancient magical idol from them.

#

She startled the dwarf and the elf beside her when she pushed herself to her feet and trudged forward blindly. Her sorrow threatened to consume—crush—her as she stared up into the sunbeams, screaming inside. Her mabari war hound followed faithfully, watching her intently as they came upon a waterfall, but dwarf, elf and hound alike let her take the lead just as she always did.

_Such serene beauty to be found near so much horror, so much ugliness and violence._

Summoning the dregs of her energy reserve, she broke into a sprint for the waterfall's edge and leapt.

 #

" _Fasta vass!_ " the elf cursed in Tevene.

With a whine, the dog dashed away, backtracking down the hillside to the lakefront as the elf's bare feet and dwarf's heavy boots skidded on loose stones when they followed. With his heart pounding and a stream of more curses threatening to escape his lips, the elf approached the shore. Shielding keen eyes against the reflecting sunlight playing on the undulating surface, he found her across the pool at the base of the waterfall, kneeling in the shallows beneath an overhanging tree while scrubbing at her hands. Relief seeped through his bones as the dog's stumpy tail wagged once, twice just before he splashed into the water to paddle across to her.

"Broody, have I mentioned dwarves are lousy swimmers? What do you say to you swimming over there and keeping an eye on her while I come around the long way?"

The elf looked down at the dwarf's beardless face and considered his request as his eyes moved over the crossbow peeking over his shoulder, the furred chest bared beneath an open shirt and coat, a glinting gold necklace that matched the golden rings in his ears.

"I could tow you behind me," he said at last in his usual quiet rumble.

"I'll stick to dry land, thanks."

The elf bent to remove his armor and strip down to his leggings, piling his belongings onto the dwarf's outstretched arms as he went.

"Lucky for you, Varric, we travel light," the elf said as he removed the leather baldric keeping his two-handed sword on his back and placed it atop the dwarf's burden carefully.

Varric grunted, momentarily observing the dog's progress across the lake before he said, "Broo— er, Fenris, don't let her out of your sight."

Fenris nodded solemnly as he walked into the water until it rose to his waist then dove forward and began to swim.

 #

_Can't get it off. Why won't it come off?_

Trembling, oblivious to her own soft whimpers, she scrubbed her palms with the stone until her raw skin burned a deep pink. Still, she could see the blood. She scratched her fingernails across the creases in her fingers, pressing them into her flesh determinedly. Still, she could see the blood. She dug beneath her fingernails and picked at the cuticles. Still, she could see the blood. She'd returned to scrubbing with the rock again when bronze fingers wrapped around her wrists firmly and pulled her hands away from each other to still them. She blinked down at the intrusions, her hazy mind struggling to comprehend their presence.

"Hawke."

Blinking slowly, her eyes followed the beads of water running over the backs of tattooed hands, then beyond. More white lines curved across a taut stomach and chest, strong shoulders and a slender neck, the details of which were magnified in the rivulets of water sluicing down his body as he stood over her. Two inked lines curved over his chin, bringing her eyes to his face where she found his black eyebrows furrowed above his intent gaze as more droplets of water ran down his cheeks, escaping shaggy hair darkened from white to silver.

She swallowed audibly and whispered, "I need— Beth— her blood— Mother can't . . . see this. I can't— it won't . . . ." She closed her eyes, licked her cracked lips with a dry tongue and inhaled slowly. When her eyelashes lifted again, she said, "It won't come off."

His eyes dropped to her hands as he knelt down in front of her, and he gently pried the stone from her grasp to drop it back into the water. He turned her palms up and inspected her skin for specks of blood before glancing at the large hound watching from a few steps away.

"Maric, stick." He pointed at a suitable twig floating nearby.

When Fenris had it in hand, he broke it, revealing a sharp point he then used to deftly clean beneath her nails despite her still-trembling fingers. She blinked several times to soothe painfully dry eyes and found herself gazing at his long, pointed ear. Her eyes followed the outer edge of it down to his jaw, up to his cheek, over his long nose, to determined eyes, the current color of which reminded her of untamed fields near the village of Lothering as the golden sunlight reflected from the water's surface and up into their green depths.

When he finished, he released her fingers, tossed the stick aside, then gestured for her to return to shore as he waded behind her. As Hawke followed his instruction, she breathed a little more easily. He stepped up to unbuckle her twin baldrics and remove her paired daggers. She let him do so without protest, but her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Your armor needs to be laid out to dry, Hawke, as do your clothes."

Her cheeks turned pink as her eyes dropped to the waves lapping at the shore. She let him strip her leather armor away, indicating with small gestures and quiet murmurs the locations of fastenings with which he was unfamiliar. He stepped back once she stood unarmed, unarmored and barefoot, observing her quietly with his arms crossed over his chest. When he made no indication of leaving the area or even turning away, she narrowed her eyes.

"Do you intend to watch me strip?"

"Varric asked me to keep an eye on you," he replied.

"It isn't necessary, Fenris."

Eyes dueling, they stared at one another until a panting Varric broke the silence with his hurried arrival.

#

He offered her his dry bedroll. Plagued by nightmares since her sister's death, she slept infrequently and only briefly, and the hunched shoulders and dark circles beneath her dry eyes told her companions all too clearly of an imminent breaking point. With dull eyes and no fire in her voice, she protested Varric's order to sleep. Whatever drove her to take a stand earlier was now gone. They were all hungry, dehydrated and exhausted, but she looked ready to drop from the slightest breeze, having also paid the highest emotional toll of them all.

Although Fenris agreed to accompany them into the Deep Roads as barely an acquaintance, he hadn't expected to become intrigued by the woman and her eclectic group to the point that he sought them out regularly in the weeks following their initial meeting, even if only to observe them silently. But Hawke would not let him remain quietly ensconced in his shell. She said they must build trust between them if they were to watch one another's backs on a journey that would keep them isolated for weeks in the dwarven tunnels far below the surface where escape was no easy thing to accomplish. If only she'd known then the extent of the truth in those words.

From then on, she breezed through the dilapidated mansion he squatted in—awaiting its previous occupant's return—like a hurricane of laughter and warmth to descend upon him in the room he'd chosen as his sanctuary and request his company almost every evening with her blue eyes twinkling and her lips curved into an easy smile. They spent their time together clearing thugs and slavers from streets and back alleys and warehouses. On the rare evenings she did not come for him, he paced restlessly, feeling strangely hollow. However dangerous it may be to bond with another, to diminish a hard-won freedom by forming attachments, he'd grown to admire her courage, tenacity and wit and could not deny being drawn to her. She startled him often by addressing him directly, asking for his opinion and expressing concern when he sustained wounds.

Curiously, her touch did not result in his skin flaring with painful agitation, made particularly sensitive by the embedded swirling designs of ink and lyrium—a substance mined by dwarves, controlled by the Chantry and used by mages and templars alike to fuel their abilities. He learned to suppress his methods of avoiding contact with others when she bandaged wounds he couldn't tend himself. Whether he endured her touch more easily for a physiological reason or simply because he found himself enjoying her company, even looking forward to it, he did not know. Before he was aware of it, however, he was bound by something known to others as a budding friendship and—more importantly—a mutual respect he could barely fathom for being a recipient of such was a foreign concept to a slave, escaped or not. Only upon quiet reflection as he returned to their small camp with four skinned rabbits prepared for a cooking fire and the mabari on his heels did he acknowledge this about his relationship with her.

As he approached, he noted a pair of filled canteens dripped from their place hanging from a low tree branch as Varric tied the third beside them. Near a bared patch of earth which now held a small fire, Hawke's sodden clothes and bedding dotted the grass, drying in the waning sun. He found her scooting down into his bedroll as she yawned expansively.

As she snuggled into it with only her bare shoulders and head peeking above it, she pressed the blanket to her nose then tucked it beneath her chin and said, "Smells like Fenris."

Stepping around her to take his kills to the fire, he glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Is that . . . good?"

Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes widened just before she hid them behind his blanket with a muffled curse.

Varric, having turned just in time to witness her colorful reaction to the elf's arrival, chuckled and said, "I'd take that as a yes."

#

She awoke to the aroma of cooked meat and the darkness of nighttime held at bay by the dying firelight. Her stomach rumbled and she sat up, wrapping the blanket around herself. She spotted Varric across the fire, sleeping, and her mabari sitting on his haunches at the edge of the light, watching her curiously as his stumpy tail thumped the ground in greeting.

A canteen strap brushed her shoulder, startling her. She looked up into a shadowed face and accepted his offer with hushed thanks. She tipped it back and drank thirstily, the water's summer warmth soothing her prickly throat before he returned with rabbit and a handful of berries on a battered tin plate. Her stomach protested its neglected state loudly again, earning her a small tilt of his lips in a semblance of a smile as he handed off her dinner. As she ate, he walked the perimeter of their small camp, peering intently into the darkness as he listened carefully. She felt him glance at her from time to time and assumed him to be checking her progress with eating but kept her head down, chewing her food mechanically without really tasting it.

When she finished, she tossed the remains to Maric then yawned before she said in a low voice, "Give me a moment to dress, then I'll take next watch."

He turned and gazed at her, his features inscrutable in the play of dim firelight and shadows across his face, then said, "Not tonight, Hawke. Sleep."

He rolled his shoulders slightly, tensing, perhaps bracing for her protest, but she did not give it. Instead, her eyes fell to her hands, still raw and slightly itchy in the early stages of healing.

"Thank you, Fenris, for . . . today. And for watching over me." She caught his nod with her peripheral vision and then added, "I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. I . . . ." With a small shake of her head and a self-deprecating twist to her mouth as pink blossomed across her cheeks, her voice failed her despite the many words wanting to explain away the sting of embarrassment. She felt his approach, but could not meet his eyes even when he knelt down in front of her—not until the tip of his finger touched her beneath her chin, a touch that lasted only a moment as he pressed gently, but shocked her into speechless compliance. He'd never touched her unnecessarily before.

When he held her eyes with his, he said, "Rest. I watch over you still."

Her heart fluttered repeatedly while she returned his gaze, then she nodded her acquiescence slowly until he stood and moved away to circle the perimeter once more. Curled on her side with her eyes closed, she lay listening to his feet moving in the grass followed by silence as he stopped to watch the surrounding darkness for a short time before his feet moved again. After several minutes of focusing on his rhythm, her weary mind eased her back into slumber.


	2. Promises, Promises

Six Years Later

 

Those Maker-forsaken footsteps plodded behind her as the summer evening pressed in, cloaking her in its overbearing humidity as she pushed herself onward, rapidly scanning the deserted boulevard for a place that offered sanctuary. She didn't look back as she pushed her way through a heavy door suspended on creaky hinges. She crossed the battered tile floor quickly, moving deeper into the manor, then lifted the flowing skirt of her gown slightly before her feet whispered her ascent against the stone staircase. She found him leaning against the far wall, gazing through a window, and paused in the doorway to let her eyes roam over his silvery white hair, pointed ears and the unusual markings that ran over his chin and down his neck to disappear into the collar of his tunic.

_Beautiful._

He straightened and approached her slowly as hardened eyes the color of moss, now darkening until the green appeared nearly indistinguishable from black, took in the sparkling gems draped about her throat, then moved over her bare arms to her formal gloves before dropping to her heeled slippers as she stood before him, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor that shimmied down her spine in the wake of his perusal. Her fingers released the silk of her gown when his eyes skimmed over it as they traveled her form once more from her feet to the little blossoms woven into her upswept raven tresses. The caress of his gaze quickened her heartbeat, stole her breath and warmed her even more to the furthest reaches of her fingers and toes. His gaze settled against hers at last, curiosity evident as he waited for her to speak. She looked away first, her cheeks coloring lightly. When her eyes stopped on the bottle in his hand, he offered it to her in continued silence.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He watched her throat work as she tipped the wine to her lips and drank, swallowing several times, but his eyes slid beyond her shoulder when he heard the heavy exterior door scrape against the floor. In a sudden flurry of rustling silk, she dashed around him and the bottle clattered noisily onto the table as it slipped from her glove-covered grip. He turned to look at her over his shoulder in time to see her yank up her gown and palm a small dagger from an inconspicuous weapon sheath strapped to her thigh, and then he stepped onto the landing to scrutinize the intruder. She lowered her skirt and held the blade against her leg, hidden within folds of material, just as a slurred Orlesian accent slithered up from below.

"Lady 'awke, why do you run from me? We were 'aving a lovely time, no?"

She peered into the dim expanse beyond the doorway and waited for the visitor to step closer before she moved onto the landing, allowing the firelight seeping from the room behind her to find his expectant face.

"I told you I needed some air and excused myself from your company, serah."

She watched his eyes move to her companion and narrow with suspicion as he muttered to himself about having believed this building to be deserted. His attention returned to her and with an indulgent smile curling his lips, he continued.

"I would 'ave escorted you to dzee veranda to gaze at dzee stars for as long as you wished."

"No, thank you," she replied curtly.

Undeterred, he said, "Fate 'as played 'er part een our meeting, for eet must 'ave been 'er favor dzat left Prince Vael unable to accompany you at dzee last moment. Come now, return with me and we shall apologize for our absence and continue our celebrations. Surely you do not wish to be rude to our 'osts, my lady."

Nearly pressing herself against her companion's back as she peered past him and through the carved balusters to the man below, she said, "I chose the most civil recourse available to me and purposely removed myself from your presence. But if you wish to press this, I am certain the Comte and Comtesse de Launcet would understand my reaction should they learn one of their guests refuses to accept a woman's disinterest in his repeated advances and resorts to thinly-veiled threats of violence against her person."

A low growl rose to her left, and she stepped aside as the elf entered the room behind them once more, claimed his greatsword from where it rested upon the sturdy, waist-high table then returned to her side.

"Fenris, he's a foreign dignitary. A drunk dignitary, yes, but this must still be handled caref—" she whispered, but he moved to the far rail to snarl an order at the man below to leave.

With a quick, dismissive scowl at Fenris, the intruder's mask slipped over his anger once more as he looked up at her and entreated, "Surely we can put dzees misunderstanding behind us. As I said earlier, I do not require an answer dzees very night. Take some time, my beautiful Fereldan bird, and consider the wisdom of my offer. Please, allow me dzee opportunity to win your 'eart. Tomorrow? Per'aps an afternoon spent sailing on my boat, getting acquainted, no?"

_You mistake me for a fool for I am certain I'd never see Kirkwall again if I set foot on that ship with you._

With his sword in one hand, bracing himself with the other, the elf vaulted over the balustrade to stand before the other man, who moved back with a glare as Fenris repeated his command.

"Leave. Now," he ordered in an authoritative rumble she enjoyed so much, it provoked a primal response deep inside her as warm desire blossomed in her core.

With fists balled at his sides and his face reddening with frustrated anger as he struggled to continue ignoring the elf, the man said through gritted teeth, "I set sail upon dzee Waking Sea for Orlais een a few days, Champion, and with me goes my offer of marriage. Choose wisely." He turned on his heel, steadied himself when he wobbled then stalked to the door, muttering about "feelthy knife-ears" as he disappeared through it.

She slipped her dagger back into its thigh sheath beneath her skirt as Fenris climbed the staircase then moved past her to exchange his sword for the bottle of wine. He settled himself in one of the cushioned winged-back chairs at the far end of the table, took a sip of the wine and studied her intently. She wandered up to the doorway slowly, her eyes drawn by the fireplace as she bit her bottom lip and replayed the last few minutes in her mind.

Without looking at him, she said softly, "Thank you. I apologize for intruding on your quiet evening."

Movement from his direction pulled her gaze away from the flames to find he'd raised the wine in another silent offer to her. She hesitated, but when one corner of his mouth tilted in a semblance of a smile, she found herself claiming a chair near his as she took the bottle from him.

#

As she climbed that same staircase several days later with her canine companion at her heels, voices floated from the central room on the next floor.

"My ability to keep the seneschal from noticing is at an end. My position as Captain of the Guard and simply changing the patrols around this mansion are not enough any longer. There's nothing more I can do. Consider asking Haw—"

She hesitated upon the next step, straining to hear his low voice when he interrupted the Guard-Captain. "I appreciate what you've done, Aveline, but I can not—will not—risk it. If his constituents knew I— that I . . . . She is—" With a sigh, his voice oozed bitterness as he stated simply, "I can't."

Moments bled together as the passage of time became meaningless for the lurking woman when her world tipped off its axis to begin spiraling as wildly as a child's toy spintop. Her heart pounded so fiercely she feared those in the other room could hear it. Only Aveline's eventual, softly-spoken response of "Oh, Fenris . . ." reminded her to breathe.

"Don't, Aveline. I do not wish to discuss it further." He sighed once more, then said with a note of finality, "I will rent a room at the Hanged Man."

"And risk not just one, but two friends instead?"

Fenris snorted in disgust. "I do not call _her_ 'friend'. Perhaps at one time, but no longer. Her selfish greed nearly resulted in Hawke's death. Hawke is far more forgiving than Isabela deserves."

No longer skulking, but with her heart still racing and legs threatening to falter, she moved up the staircase with what she hoped was a serene smile and ambling gait as she approached the doorway and held up the rumpled slip of paper tucked in her hand. "Aveline? I received your message asking me to meet you here this morning."

Fenris arched an eyebrow as Aveline glanced over her shoulder when Hawke entered the room, but the guardswoman kept her arms crossed over her chest and the irritated expression on her face.

"Right. Yes. Hawke, an investigation of records pertaining to this property is now under way because your Orlesian _friend_ from the De Launcet party decided to draw attention to Fenris by 'casually' inquiring about 'dzee feral knife-ear dwelling in dzee decrepit manor at dzee end of dzee boulevard'."

Again, Fenris snorted.

"That arrogant, self-righteous, nug-humping bast—" When Aveline held up her hand for silence, Hawke bit her bottom lip to quell her rising ire and fell to pacing restlessly.

"You have an estate that could easily house more quite comfortably, yet now holds only four." When the hound in the doorway tilted his head and huffed at her, Aveline corrected herself. "All right, four and a war hound." Another muffled woof had her rolling her eyes. "Fine! Four inferior subjects and Maric, the most magnificent war hound to ever live. Is that satisfactory, Your Highness?"

Hawke snickered and one corner of Fenris's mouth twitched in amusement when the hound barked happily and wagged his stumpy tail.

"The next person I meet who names her mabari after a king— _then tells him the story of his namesake—_ will be throttled to within an inch of her life," Aveline grumbled. "As I was saying . . . as it stands now, Hawke, Fenris must reside elsewhere."

Hawke stilled completely for a long moment, then bowed her head. With her hands on her hips and her eyes closed, she said, "Had I known, Fenris, I wouldn't have come here that night. I simply wanted away from him. I wasn't thinking about a destination; I was just . . . _going_." She met his gaze. "And this is where I go when I'm upset. Please forgive me."

He shook his head solemnly in response, and she feared that would remain his only answer until he said, "I would do it again."

A thick sweetness akin to honey oozed over her nerves, easing her from angered alarm to awareness of only him and a siren's song tempting her to give in to a long-held desire. The green of his eyes expanded until it was all she could see and she stood motionless, willingly ensnared. Neither blinked and she did not even breathe until Aveline cleared her throat awkwardly after several erratic heartbeats.

"I suggest relocating quickly, Fenris. I'm sure Bodahn and Orana can have a room readied for you by this afternoon. Right, Hawke?"

Before Hawke could respond, Fenris shook his head once more as his gaze released her to move to the guardswoman.

"If a vacancy is not found at the Hanged Man, I shall find other lodging," he announced. "Perhaps . . . the alienage or the Blooming Rose," he added, unable to keep the note of resignation from his voice.

Hawke took a step toward him, her eyes burning with fiery protest as she said, "I see no reason to turn to an alienage, of all places. You abhor their existence. You'd also be tripping over Merrill frequently, I'm sure." She paused when he shook his head again, but quickly continued before he could give voice to his disagreement. "And the Blooming Rose? You'd stay in a brothel rather than my estate? You're not running anymore. You don't have to settle for a place like the Rose." She huffed in annoyance. "You'd have your choice of bedrooms, with or without a fireplace. Some are large enough to hold a table or desk in addition to a bed and wardrobe if you like. The largest two guest rooms on the top floor even have private bathing rooms attached."

"Upon death, a magister's propert—"

"This may not even be his mansion," she told him, cutting into his speech early. "You told me yourself it belonged to a merchant, one he may have even killed before claiming this place. You know we're all potential targets already simply by being found in your company so often. Each of us has accepted the possibility of being used as an instrument of vengeance against you, but we remain by your side."

She spread her upturned palms as she added, "The same could be said for all of you for being friends of mine. The higher my profile rises within this city, the more dangerous it becomes for everyone to continue personal relationships with me. Surely everyone who has heard anything about me understands I would not stand idly by while someone harmed or even threatened any of you. Yes, your life is in the most jeopardy from the new owner of Danarius's assets, but please don't forget you're also in peril because of _me_. You know I've stepped on a few toes during my time in Kirkwall. You're just as likely to end up as bait as I am, Fenris."

She stiffened her stance and put her hands on her hips once more, then said, "This little group of ours is well-acquainted with danger, both collectively and individually, and should your past rise up to haunt you once more, just as with Danarius and Varania, you will not face it alone. I can't speak for the likes of Anders and Isabela." She counted out her list on her fingers as she said, "However, I _know_ you can count on me, Donnic and Aveline, Varric, Sebastian. Now that I think about it, Zevran seems quite interested in your well-being, too." As an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and you could probably count Merrill if you wanted, as well."

He scowled at the mention of the blood mage, but didn't speak, so she moved to stand in front of him. The warmth radiating from his body threatened to destroy her focus with memories, but she shrugged it off mentally. She hesitated then and gazed down at the floor for a moment, but when she looked up into his face once more, her eyes glittered clearly with earnest appeal.

"Both my parents and the twins have been lost to darkness in some form or other. I am alone with only my servants and war hound for company there. My family— _my light—_ is found in the people that I trust above all others and care about most. It is because of people like you and Aveline that I was able to move forward through my grief in the aftermath of my mother's murder. And it's because of me that you can no longer remain in this mansion."

"What of Sebastian?"

She tilted her head as she considered his question then said, "He is my friend . . . and a mentor of sorts. He has experience navigating the tangled webs of business and politics found at social engagements like the De Launcet gala. He makes attending those ostentatious displays of wealth much more bearable. After all, I need all the help I can possibly get for I am, as some of the nobles say, just 'a simple Fereldan turnip who loves her dog above all others'," she quipped then let her eyes drop to the swatch of red fabric tied securely around his gauntlet, then move to the Amell crest—her maternal family's crest—attached to his belt. "He knows what I do and do not feel for him and asks nothing more."

"Do you intend to pay me a salary as a reason for my presence in your home in order to preserve your reputation then?"

She stared at him incredulously. "I've never been interested in climbing social ladders, marrying for status, titles or money, Fenris. That was my mother's wish, but this is _me_ we're talking about, not Mother. If my neighbors aren't gossiping about a friend sharing my home, they'd be clucking about something else I have—or haven't—done." With a wry chuckle, she added, "They don't discriminate as long as they have something to prattle on about. Most seem to have opinions on how I should or shouldn't run my life, but this life is still mine.

"Look, I dueled the Arishok to keep Isabela from Qunari justice, but I _was_ tempted to hand her over. She wronged them and retribution was theirs to give. But I'm selfish; I couldn't let them have her. Imagine the lengths I would go to for those I care about who didn't lie to me repeatedly and stab me in the back when I needed them most?"

Aveline's plate armor clinked as she shifted her weight, reminding Hawke of her presence, who swallowed the rest of what she'd been about to say.

When Fenris simply gazed at her, she bit her lower lip again then said, "I do understand your need for independence. You can have the entire third floor and all the privacy you wish. Invite Donnic over for a game of Diamondback as often as you want. Come and go as you please just as you do here. No expectations, no obligations . . . and hopefully no awkwardness. I _want_ to help; I am finally _able_ to help. Please let me."

His face remained impassive as he studied hers intently. Whatever he found there must have satisfied him, because one corner of his mouth moved up into a hint of an amused smirk as he finally said, "How can I possibly resist when the 'beautiful Fereldan bird' bestows such an _impassioned_ invitation upon me?"

They both ignored Aveline's raised eyebrows and not-quite-silent struggle to keep from chuckling as a wide grin broke across Hawke's face while vivid pink bloomed across her cheeks.

#

Two days later, as she sat near the hearth in the front room, she heard a soft scraping against the metal lock of the exterior door, followed by a distinct click. She looked up from the papers scattered about her on the floor and waited expectantly until a dark-skinned figure draped in a multitude of gold jewelry and wearing a blue bandanna over her hair, a tunic laced so tightly it threatened to release the curves it was meant to cover and tall leather boots slipped into the foyer.

"Isabela," she said in greeting as the other woman turned and discovered her audience.

"Oh, hello, Hawke." The pirate sauntered into the room to stand near her as Hawke returned to the paper in her hand, then asked with a note of impatience, "Is he here?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him this afternoon."

Isabela flopped down on the floor to lie across several papers spread before the hearth, then asked, "So, has three years provided enough . . . distance for you?"

With an irritated grumble, Hawke stood and crossed the room to a desk beside the staircase leading up to the next floor. She'd carefully folded and addressed the outside of the single sheet of parchment then sealed it with wax before Isabela came to stand beside her.

"How does this work if he brings someone home? Is it _forbidden_?"

Hawke returned to the hearth with Isabela on her heels, then glanced over her shoulder to the third floor balcony where she'd created a cozy nook that held a small seating area and a pair of bookshelves she'd filled for her new housemate, a place she'd seen him quietly practicing his reading that morning. Finding it vacant, she looked at Isabela once more as the pirate moved past her to reclaim her place between the hearth and foyer entrance.

"I didn't wring some sort of commitment from him or chain him with expectations as soon as he moved in, if that's what you're thinking. If he chooses to, um . . . seek entanglements . . . ," Isabela rolled her eyes, but Hawke continued, "with you or someone else, it is his prerogative. But I am asking you, Isabela, as my friend, please don't be the pursuer." After a heavy sigh and a moment's hesitation in which her chest tightened painfully, she stammered, "I– My– Just . . . please, Bela."

The pirate's big brown eyes stared into Hawke's for several heartbeats before she threw an arm around the other woman's slender shoulders to give her an affectionate squeeze.

"All right, Hawke. I'll be a good girl just for you."

Startled, Hawke blinked at her owlishly then said with eyes narrowing with suspicion, "You still feel guilty about stealing the Qunari relic and my duel with their military leader."

Chuckling now, Isabela pulled away and backed up several steps before she thrust her hip to one side, put her hand on it and said, "Perhaps, sweet thing, perhaps." Her eyes then lifted above Hawke's head. "You know where to find me, handsome. Don't forget the body oil. I want you to _glisten_ with more than just sweat." She winked then looked at Hawke once more and smiled.

With her stomach now knotted with dread, Hawke turned and found Fenris leaning a hip against the stone balustrade with a book pressed between his crossed arms and his chest as his steady gaze met hers.

_So much for no awkwardness._

Hawke whipped around and shouted the pirate's name just as the woman escaped through the door while calling back "You're welcome!" as she went. With a sigh and a murmured curse, she winced before chancing another glance upward. Other than a subtle lift to one eyebrow, he hadn't moved and his near-predatory scrutiny continued unabated. She swallowed against a suddenly thick tongue and dry throat as something primal awoke deep inside her in response.

Oh, she was in trouble.


	3. Two to Tango

As the laughter died down among the assembled group, an elegant brogue rose above the fading din. Turning to the blond elf beside him, the man clad in gold-trimmed, polished white armor said, "Zevran, as the newest and most mysterious among us, I choose you. Truth or dare?"

With a sly smile, the elf responded, "Ah, Prince Vael, you expect someone like myself to choose dare, yes? Truth, it is."

"Sebastian, please." At Zevran's nod of acquiescence, he continued. "Tell me, Zevran, have you ever been in love?"

Clearly startled by the question, Zevran eyed Sebastian while selecting his response carefully. An alert hush fell upon those gathered around the table as his earlier lightheartedness fled and a cloud of melancholy settled upon him heavily. At last, he said, "Yes."

"Oh?" Sebastian promptly.

Mutely, Zevran stared into the distance, his golden eyes unfocused as his thoughts took him on a journey. Seeing this, Sebastian laid his hand on the other's arm.

"I'm sorry, Zevran. I should not have asked."

The contact brought the elf back to awareness while he absentmindedly fiddled with the single bejeweled earring he wore when he said, "I lost her to the arch demon."

Everyone turned to look at the elven woman seated to Hawke's left when they heard her gasp softly. Through the fingertips resting lightly on her lips in surprise, she whispered, "You speak of Lyna Mahariel? Of my clan?"

Turning to look at Zevran once more, Hawke said, "I remember now, hearing recent tales of the Hero of Ferelden, a Dalish elf recruited into the Grey Wardens and an Antivan lover who fought the darkspawn at her side. Together, they slew the arch demon, stopped the Blight before it could spread beyond Ferelden borders and saved the world as we know it." She glanced to the woman beside her and claimed her hand for a gentle squeeze then returned her attention to the elf seated across the heavily scarred table. "Merrill told us a bit about her, her life before Commander Duncan recruited her into the order. Ferelden—no, all of Thedas—may have gained a hero, but the world is surely a darker place without her now. I'm sorry for your loss."

Zevran inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment of her words. He remained silent for several moments, then turned to the woman beside him.

"Isabela?"

With a grin, she purred, "Truth."

"Oh, ho, ho, ho! Living dangerously, are we?" At Isabela's mischievous wink, he asked, "Do you believe in _selfless_ love?"

The grin slipped from her full and often-pouty lips as she murmured, "Unexpected."

Smirking once more, Zevran replied, "Ah, but I like to keep you on your toes, my dear siren of the sea."

Her gaze dropped and clouded over briefly as she contemplated her response.

"For most of my life, I didn't." Her eyes briefly flickered across the table toward Hawke before she continued in a voice so soft, others leaned in to hear her properly. "Not everyone deserves it . . . or friendship."

From his seat at the head of the table, the dwarf cleared his throat and plunked down the tankard he'd just drained, muttering, "Andraste's sanctified ass, this is enough to make even Bianca weep. A pirate queen from Rivain and an assassin—a former Antivan Crow, no less—supposedly _daring_ adventurers? Keep it up, Rivaini, and you'll give Broody competition for his nickname. Maybe I'll name your friend here Moody. You make quite a pair." Glancing at the chair at the opposite end of the table in which Hawke's hound sat gnawing on a large bone and drooling profusely in his contentment, he added, "I bet Maric would be better at Truth or Dare than you two."

Merrill peered at the crossbow leaning within the dwarf's easy reach against the nearest table leg and asked, "She won't really cry will she, Varric?"

The dwarf patted the back of her hand and said, "I'm sure she'll recover just fine, Daisy." Perusing the suite's occupants, he said, "Norah's too sloshed to serve us again so I'm making an ale run downstairs. While I'm gone, get this thing back on track. This is supposed to be fun."

He disappeared through the door while Isabela's eyes circled the table and came to rest on Fenris as he slouched in a chair across from her. With her humor and the twinkle in her eyes returning, she leaned up onto her elbows on the table, squeezed her breasts together to display her ample cleavage more prominently and enunciated very slowly, savoring the taste as she said, "Fenris . . . ."

His eyes lifted from the bottle of wine he held in one hand to watch her smile seductively as she trailed one fingertip along the deep neckline of her tunic, drawing his attention down from her face. His eyes jerked up once more.

"Truth or dare?"

His lip curled into a sneer as he growled, "Dare."

Isabela's mouth crafted a surprised "Ooh" at his answer, then she ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip as she considered her response. After several moments, her gaze trailed over the tattoos lining his chin and neck as she said, "It's your turn to mark someone." When Fenris opened his mouth to speak, Isabela held up her hand and hurried to continue. "Someone of your own choosing and in pleasure, not pain. The number of marks is entirely up to you—who am I to tell you when to stop?—but at least one of them must be visible even when sh— _the person_ is fully clothed. A mark to be worn publicly." After a pause and the quickest of glances to indicate the Antivan at her elbow, she said, "A declaration, maybe?"

Hawke held her breath and kept her eyes on a fixed point across the room, monitoring herself carefully for any outward reaction that could reveal her thoughts to the others.

_Shit, Isabela, you agreed you wouldn't pursue him. Why isn't Zevran enough? Why aren't your other conquests enough? Why_ him _? Andraste's flaming knickers, can I handle this? Watching him place a claim on her even temporarily? Shit. I don't want to watch this. If I slide out of my chair into a puddle beneath the table, can I ooze through the floorboards without anyone noticing? Shit. Shit._

Fenris's mouth closed with a click of his teeth, and he looked from Isabela to the blond beside her and on to Sebastian beside him as they watched him in return. When his eyes settled on Isabela again, he set his bottle on the table and rose from his chair, then removed both gauntlets and dropped them near the wine. The bulge in his throat served as the only betrayal of his anxiety as it bobbed while he tightened the crimson fabric encircling his wrist, then he shed his metal breastplate. Merrill murmured about his consideration in removing his sharp-edged armor, but he ignored her. He turned to the woman on his left and extended his hand in a silent request as he stared at the marred table surface.

Blinking at the offered hand dumbly, Hawke nearly squeaked an awkward hiccup when her body suddenly demanded breath at the same time her throat slammed shut from surprise. His hand was warm and steady as she slid her own bare palm into it, touching him lightly but reveling deeply in the sensation of his skin against hers.

_I've missed you so much, Fenris._

She rose on unsteady legs as his long fingers wrapped around hers securely and tugged lightly, encouraging her to follow as he stepped away from the table. They were nearly across the room when Isabela protested.

"Wait! Where's our show?"

Fenris glowered over his shoulder at her, but it was Hawke who said, "An audience was not a requirement of the dare, Isabela. You'll have to find another source of entertainment."

Smiling triumphantly, she followed Fenris around the corner into Varric's bedchamber as they overheard the pirate grumbling about not making the same mistake again. While it lacked doors in the wide, paired openings, the partial wall that separated the low bed from the rest of the suite still afforded a measure of privacy if they moved a short distance into the bedroom.

As soon as they were out of sight of the others, Fenris turned and pressed her back against the wall as he buried his face against her neck. Convinced he could hear and feel her heart pounding as he positioned his lips next to her ear, she was taken by surprise once more when he whispered his thanks, sounding slightly shocked that she agreed to the dare. She closed her eyes as his warm breath against her ear made her toes curl inside her boots. She smiled to herself, encircled his neck with her arms and hugged him as his embrace tightened. He was certainly not the same ex-slave she'd met so long ago, reluctant to trust, loathe to touch and be touched, leaving only the memory of their single night of passion years before to keep her warm on lonely nights.

_Did I drink too much wine and pass out at the table? Is this really happening? Merciful Maker, let this be happening._

Refusing to yield his hold around her waist, he nudged her long hair away from her neck with his nose then brushed his lips against her skin in a feather-light caress that traveled upward. When his teeth captured her earlobe, she trembled against him, eliciting a raspy chuckle from deep in his throat.

_He remembered._

She inhaled sharply and even the simplest of thoughts fled when his tongue traced a warm, wet trail along the shell of her ear, then she bit her lip when he nibbled and licked a slow return path down her neck. His hands moved at last to glide down and cup her ass, lifting her onto her toes while stealing her already-limited breath when his groin pressed against hers. She tried to stifle the sound, but couldn't help the soft moan that escaped as she tilted her head to one side, offering herself a moment before his teeth pressed into her skin. Pain laced with pleasure swelled, and she arched against him, basking in the intoxicating sensations he unleashed as her nails raked up the back of his neck and her fingers entangled in his silky hair. When he finally released her from his bite, he swept his tongue over the impressions left behind, soothing the aching flesh before his lips closed over it, suckling to relieve the last of the sting.

A breathless "Oh" escaped her parted lips when he lifted her higher and braced her against the wall; her legs wrapped around his waist. Delicious desire sparked along sensitive nerve endings until her entire being flamed as her cunt clenched in anticipation. With a growl rumbling in his chest and his mouth still working at her neck, he crushed her body against the unforgiving wall behind her when she rolled her hips, grinding against his hardening cock.

"You shouldn't be watching. Fenris will be so angry when he realizes . . . ."

"Broody's too distracted to notice. Relax, Daisy."

She mentally murdered everyone else in that suite in the few seconds Fenris remained frozen with his lips against her neck. When he set her on her feet, steadying her until she regained her balance as he stared at the wall blankly and slowed his quickened breathing, she slaughtered them all again. She watched his clouded eyes move from the wall behind her, clear momentarily only to fill with something she couldn't easily identify when he gazed at her bruised neck, then boil over with fury as they returned to the wall. When he pulled away from the embrace completely, sadness rushed in to fill the emptiness his lack of touch left behind in her.

"Oh, come on, spoilsport," Isabela huffed when Fenris stalked past her to the table, ignoring those who remained seated around it while he gathered his armor.

"Isabela," Hawke warned.

"So, we watched a little of it. What's the big deal?" the pirate asked, shrugging.

Zevran half-rose from his seat when a bluish glowing blur slammed Isabela back against the wall she'd been standing near moments before. Only Sebastian's solid grip on his arm returned the blond elf to his chair—reluctantly.

Rolling her eyes, Isabela said, "It didn't even get that far."

A snarl erupted from his throat as his metal claws curled around the pirate's neck threateningly before his glare fell to Varric, who tried to dodge the elf's wrath by refusing to make eye contact. At last, Fenris released Isabela and turned away, disappearing through the door without another word.

"Well," Isabela said while rubbing her neck, "since he chose you for his dare, Hawke, let's say it's your turn to pick someone."

Hawke gaped at the other woman incredulously, then shook her head as she scooped up the forgotten wine bottle and announced, "This isn't a game I care to play any longer."

She kept her farewells to herself as she too departed.

#

"My little girl has grown so strong. I love you. You've always made me proud," the not-quite-recognizable voice rasped. Hawke curled over her protectively, rocking back and forth as she cradled the doll that wore her mother's face, whispering comforting words. She squeezed her eyes shut so she couldn't see the stitches encircling her neck as the once-oozing blood dried, crusting over the incision. Strong hands wrapped around her upper arms, urging her to let go. She gently closed the paper-thin lids over lifeless eyes and allowed herself to be pulled away and lifted from the filth-covered ground.

Her heart beat unsteadily in her chest, but her own eyes remained dry as she stared at the unmoving _thing_ , willing time to turn back. When that didn't work, she tried praying to higher powers she did and didn't believe in. One of the hands keeping her steady moved upward until it brushed against her neck. Seconds later, it gripped her, the palm pressing against her windpipe, crushing. She clawed at it futilely. Dizziness obliterated her coherency when she was suddenly spun around to face her attacker.

"Champion," he spat disdainfully, a spray of spittle slapping her cheeks as her eyes were drawn to the bits of old food stuck in his scraggly beard. Watery eyes glared down at her before he shoved her away, sending her stumbling into a long table. Clutching her throat as she gasped for air, she looked down to find another figure bound to its surface. Her gaze traveled from mismatched feet all the way to his chest before realization dawned as she noted a white design lining nearly half his pieced-together body. Seams stitched with the same sturdy thread used on her mother kept him together, but blood still seeped from this living doll.

With dread seething in her stomach as her eyes continued to move, she thought she'd already half-accepted what her brain shrieked and her heart denied. She faltered when she discovered his lips were sewn shut, but took another breath and forced her gaze onward. One of his eyes—those beloved, olive green eyes of his—stared at her dully; the other socket, violated and empty. She turned just before her churning stomach expelled its contents, splattering the floor noisily, then pushed away from the table while shaking her head as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"No. No. No. No, no, no," she whispered in a sanity-preserving mantra as cackling enveloped her from behind.

She screamed.

"Hawke!"

Her world seized, warping around her as the siren's song continued. Over and over, she heard her name called. She struggled to comprehend, blinking rapidly to clear her vision as her location changed. She swallowed, cringing against the pain of a raw throat as her eyes darted around the room, collecting the information her convulsing heart required to calm itself. She felt a presence beside her and as awareness gained ground over the horror still stuck in her memory, she realized fingers stroked her hair back from her flushed face.

"Another nightmare," he said quietly in the voice she'd longed to hear so keenly, she nearly burst into relieved tears. Still, she couldn't hide the fact her eyes welled up even if she managed to keep individual droplets from escaping down her cheeks when she looked up at his face looming above her, naked concern in his eyes—both beautiful eyes—as he lay stretched out beside her while his hand continued with her hair, snagging in tangles from time to time despite his apparent determination to be gentle. She stared at him wide-eyed without speaking for so long, his hand stilled. Suddenly, he found himself crushed in her iron grip as she hugged him to her, babbling against his bare chest.

"You're alive! And you have both eyes. And you're not pieced together. Danarius isn't strangling me, and Mother isn't a patchwork doll anymore. You can speak. And you're not a patchwork doll anymore. You still have your eyes. I love your eyes! And you're alive. And Danarius is still dead. And you're whole and alive!"

Shocked at both her fear-heightened strength and her words, he stared stupidly around her bedroom in the diminishing firelight, at a loss for what to do as she continued her muffled clamor. After a panicked internal debate on the consequences of his decision and the reluctant realization he didn't have lust to serve as a buffer in what had quickly become an intimate encounter of the emotional kind, he awkwardly returned her embrace.

He listened to the narration of the storm inside her until she began to relax against him and fell quiet at last. His fingers moved beneath her, sliding over the tense muscles of her back in the hopes of eventually lulling her to sleep. With her breathing eased a long while later and unable to contain his own yawns, he laid his head down on her pillow and soon followed her.

#

As the sun teased the horizon with its light hours later, he buried his nose in her hair, inhaled slowly and deeply, then extracted his arms from around her with small movements. He hesitated with his hand on the door knob and stared down at his bare feet with a furrowed brow before he turned to gaze at her over his shoulder. His eyes swept over her peaceful face for several heartbeats. Eventually, he shook himself from his thoughts and squared his shoulders. When he quietly slipped from the room, he took the memory of her scent and the feel of her with him.

As the door closed behind him, a smile tugged at her lips while she snuggled against her pillow, burrowing into its new smell as she drifted back to sleep with a final thought that while a nightmare may not have been the preferred reason for him joining her in bed—indeed, she'd briefly thought it might happen with much more desire involved given the way the night began—he'd answered her need. That, above all, was most important to her. Not the lust or the marking or the awkwardness that would surely rear up when they next faced one another, but that he had come to her, comforted her, and held her through the night. She would cherish how the evening ended. She could even appreciate the nightmare for the role it had played.


	4. Pirate Games

 

The smell of liquor slapped him in the face when he pushed open the door to the Hawke estate. He next noticed soft humming coming from the main room and entered the open interior door to investigate. A step behind him, a man sighed, and he caught a glimpse of his companion shaking his head from the corner of his eye.

Chuckling now, Fenris said, "At least she has a nice voice, Donnic. It would be worse if she couldn't carry a tune." _Like Hawke_ remained unsaid.

The other man snorted with amusement and started toward the humming woman as she lay curled up against Hawke's large hound, wearing nothing more than her underclothes as she gazed into the blaze dancing in the fireplace. He passed her by, however, and moved to a sofa upon which a small elven woman lay sprawled, mumbling quietly in her sleep. Donnic scooped up the blanket draped over the back and covered Merrill's near-nakedness from her chin to the tips of her toes as she stirred briefly before settling back into her dream.

Meanwhile, Fenris investigated a bizarre series of grunts and moans coming from the study. Inky black eyebrows nearly disappeared into his shaggy, white hair when he found an unclothed Isabela on her knees between Zevran's thighs, her head bobbing rhythmically as slurping sounds mingled with the Antivan's raspy words and groans of encouragement. Frozen in shock, Fenris could only watch as Zevran suddenly gripped and twisted Isabela's hair in his hand, jerked her head back as his heavy cock fell from her mouth with a pop and turned her to kneel on all fours. The next moment, he thrust into her, burying his entire length as the pirate ground her ass back against him with her eyes closed, her head thrown back and her mouth hanging open as she moaned loudly.

"Fuck, yes! Harder, Zev! Harder!"

The slapping of flesh against flesh as Zevran's hips slammed against her repeatedly shook Fenris from his stupor to find not only more of his body awakening, but he'd also been watching them and seeing himself in Zevran's place and Hawke in Isabela's. Gulping from a lack of air in the suddenly stifling room, he turned away and slammed the door behind him, muffling the lovers' lusty moans of pleasure.

Donnic, poised over his now-grinning wife, said, "Did I just hear Isabela and Zevran, er . . . . What happened to a ladies-only night?"

Fenris scowled furiously, but didn't reply.

Glancing down at the woman on the floor once more, Donnic said, "Let's get you to bed, love."

Fenris, however, had other ideas. "Aveline, where is Hawke?"

The ginger-haired woman scrunched her freckled face in puzzlement and surveyed the room without lifting her head from her canine pillow. Maric watched the goings-on nonchalantly and offered no help. Within moments, everyone's attention was drawn upward to the source of a sudden bout of muffled giggling where they found Hawke draped across the chandelier with both hands clasped over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"Hawke!" Wide-eyed and struggling against his awakened anger, lingering arousal and the view Hawke seemed unaware she offered, Fenris kicked a pair of empty liquor bottles, sending them skittering across the floor to collide with others, some empty and others nearly so, as he moved below the chandelier. He held up both arms and growled, "Come down."

She tilted her head to one side, putting the fading love bite from several evenings prior on display as she squinted at him, contemplating.

"Y'angry, Fenrish?" she asked with a pout, unaware she'd slipped into a slurred, rural Ferelden accent.

"I-I'm . . . . You've been drinking, and your coordination is impaired, Hawke."

"Sandal showed me howta get up here long time ago," she scoffed. "He's the shamp-champion of chandelier wrangling, ya know." She stifled a yawn, then added, "I declared it. I made it so." She gazed off into the distance and said, "We should . . . we should have a shel-celebration fer 'im! People celebrated when I became Champion. It's what yer s'posed to do, I think." She nodded to herself, then looked down at Fenris once more. "W'should."

He arched an eyebrow and wiggled his fingers, resembling an impatient child grabbing for a sweet that remained out of reach. He heard Donnic and Aveline chuckling behind him, but ignored them both. Hawke heaved a long sigh, then grumbled as she untangled herself from the chandelier spokes. The others caught something that might have been about Fenris not knowing how to have fun.

He smirked up at her, pointedly keeping his eyes on her face as she lowered herself by her arms, letting her feet dangle, and said, "I assure you, I know how to have fun."

"Yeah, well, sho-sometimes yer worse than my parentsh." She pitched her voice higher in imitation and said, 'No, you may not keep the baby raccoon, dear. They're dangerous, wild creatures that're not meant to be tamed. Yesh, I know it's shweet and cuddly, but it'sh mother ish not.' Or 'Sheraphina Hawke, get outta tha' lagoon this instant! It'sh not fer bathing yer dawg!' Or 'Take it eash-easy when ya wrestle with Carver, dear. He's still a child, not ash big or strong. I'm worried ya might give 'im worse than a bloody lip an' a black eye.'"

She paused for a moment, steadying herself as the chandelier settled once more, then lowered her voice and growled, "Come down from tha' chandelier."

Donnic and Aveline burst into laughter and Fenris grinned— _grinned!_ —up at her and replied, "That isn't my voice."

"Don' I know it," Hawke muttered distractedly as she studied the floor to gauge drop distance. "Impressions don' make me w—" She stopped abruptly when his warm palms settled against her ankles. She blinked down at him, finally realizing her position and her already flushed cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Let go, Hawke," he quietly commanded. He could hear Donnic helping a tipsy Aveline up from the floor, but he kept his eyes on the inebriated woman above him. He gazed at her steadily when she hesitated. After several moments of consideration as she stared down at him, she dropped into his waiting arms.

"Why did you climb onto the chandelier?" he asked as he carefully set her on her feet, keeping a firm hold on her when her legs wobbled.

She regarded him with wide, innocent eyes and said slowly, "Had to resh-resh— er, res-kew some wine."

Donnic, steering an unsteady Aveline toward the staircase that would take them to their assigned guest room, chuckled and wished them a good night. Fenris grunted to indicate reciprocation, but didn't take his eyes from his self-appointed charge.

"Why did you need to rescue wine?"

"Wash trapped in er bottle."

"In the chandelier?" he asked quizzically.

She nodded solemnly, then in her best Isabela-like purr, she said, "Yer voice does shtrange thingsh t'me."

He arched an eyebrow, then asked, "How did the wine become trapped in the chandelier?"

"Not the wine, the corksh— er, cork-suh-krew," she enunciated carefully.

"The corkscrew was in the chandelier?"

She nodded again and traced the lyrium lines from his chin down his neck with her fingertips as she said, "Shtrange thingsh t'my ladybits."

"How did it get there?"

"Tookit up w'me." She tilted her head to one side again, drawing his attention to the bruise on her neck once more as she asked, "Will ya read a shtory to me?"

Huffing with mixed amusement and frustration, his fingers curled around hers to still them and as he tugged her hand away from his neck, he asked, "Why would you take it with you? Why climb onto the chandelier at all?"

"Zev," she responded as if he should already know the answer. "Shirt caught on it when he tossed it in the air dancin' fer us." Undeterred by Fenris's sudden scowl, she lifted her free hand to his ear and traced its outline with the pad of her finger, drawing an involuntary shudder from him, as she explained, "I didn't want 'em to resh-kew all the wine without me so I took the cork in . . . um, to free his shirt."

"Cork?" His mind flew to an interesting scenario involving cork and orifices, and he arched an eyebrow again as he asked, "In?"

"Cork-suh-krew," she corrected, enunciating slowly and carefully.

Taken aback at the implications, he very quietly said, "Ouch."

"Tucked it 'tween my breasts t'keep my hands free." She snickered, then added in a hushed voice, "Naughty corkshcrew ripped my b—" She peered down at herself, swaying slightly as she squinted. "Oh!" Blushing now, her arms quickly encircled Fenris's waist as she pressed her bared breasts against his chest to cover herself.

He shook his head and bit back a chuckle when a muffled "Oops!" and giggling erupted against his shoulder as she snuggled against him. In response, he lowered his lips next to her ear.

"You like my voice, do you?" he said, voice deepening with a seductive timbre, eliciting a shiver from her as she offered a muffled affirmative.

She suddenly found herself scooped up in his arms once more and nuzzled the brand curving up his neck to end just beneath his earlobe as he carried her up to the next floor. By the time he mounted the final staircase, the feel of her soft, warm weight against him had a bonfire raging inside him and his cock swollen in anticipation. Her lips and tongue added to his rampaging lust and threatened to steal his focus on getting them both to a bed as they left a distinct mark on the side of his neck. When her teeth clamped down lightly and she growled like a she-wolf, visions of taking her right there on the floor surged, shredding his control until a single thread was all that remained.

He kicked the door closed behind him and set her gently on the edge of the large bed. While his hands fell away from her to clench into fists at his sides as he battled for control of his desire, an oblivious Hawke glanced around at the change in scenery with a puzzled expression.

"Huh. My bedroom looksh like yers."

His lips twitched while he lifted the quilt so she could slide beneath it. When she mused aloud about who could have redecorated her red bedroom to blue during the party without her knowledge, his jaw worked visibly as he clenched his teeth in an effort to hold his laughter at bay while she began to recline. She stopped in mid-descent suddenly, gasped aloud and grabbed his wrist with one hand and handful of quilt in the other.

With widened eyes, she whispered conspiratorially, "Fenrish, the room! It'sh moving! Shhhhould we tell shomeone?"

"I am certain the proper authorities on these matters are aware, Hawke," he said dryly.

"Oh, right," she said as she released his wrist and settled back against a pillow.

"Did you perhaps have anything besides liquor this evening?"

She laughed with a soft snort and said, "Bela jus' kept handing 'em t'me so I kept drinkin'!"

Looking a little horrified, he asked, "You allowed Isabela to make your drinks?"

Growing solemn suddenly, Hawke stared into the distance as she murmured, "She promised t'help me not feel s'lonely fer at least er night. Don' feel much now. S'good."

Guilt and sadness riddled his expression as he gazed down at her silently.

"Fenrish," she asked when she looked at him once more, "were ya truly jealoush when Zevran showed interest in me tha' day after we dealt with the Crowsh? He shee–seemed well enough pleased when I told him Ishabela wash in Kirkwall an' where he could find her."

"How did you know to tell him about Isabela?"

"Bela's only love is fer the sea. When Zev ashash– ass– asses– assass—" She huffed impatiently and scrunched her eyebrows together as she tried again to stop her tongue from tripping over itself by enunciating very slowly, much to Fenris's amusement, "ass-ass-shin-aided her husband, he gave her freedom not only from an arranged marriage tha' she never wanted but from the confinesh of land ash well. She's alwaysh been grateful t'Zevran fer . . . um, her ship . . . Shyren . . . no, Siren's Call—ya know it once belonged t'her husband?—would not have been hers until much later." As an afterthought, she added, "If she outlived 'im."

After an expansive yawn and a series of slow blinks, she mumbled, "He ish handsome an' flirty, but my interest ish elshwhere. Do not worry 'bout Zevran, my Fenrish."

Eyes twinkling, Fenris responded, "I'm not concerned when it's _my_ bed you're in."

She beamed up at him sleepily as he reached down to briefly trace her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

"Tell me g'night, Fenrish," she whispered.

Just as quietly, he said, "Good night, Seraphina."

With a soft sigh and a content smile, she closed her eyes.

After several moments of his eyes trailing over her peaceful face, he moved away to prepare for bed. As he finished in the adjoining washroom and returned to the bedchamber, he stopped short upon hearing soft snores. Amusement curled one corner of his mouth when he surveyed her sleeping form to discover she'd wormed her way to his pillow opposite her own and stretched out diagonally across the bed's expanse, flattening her nose against her arm in the process.

He banked the fire until it gave off no more than a dim glow, then eased onto the mattress beside her while slowly nudging her legs across the bed to join the rest of her on one side. Working diligently and patiently so as to not wake her, he stifled a groan of frustration and rising desire when she unexpectedly rolled over and curled up against his now-bare chest. She settled with her head tucked beneath his chin and her thigh against his reawakening erection.

"Warm," she mumbled in her sleep.

He muttered a curse in Tevene. Following a lengthy hesitation, his arms curled around her.

"My Sera," he whispered.

#

Awareness intruded lazily, almost reluctantly, yet it persisted. She inhaled slowly and her pulse picked up its pace when she identified the scent of _him_. An arm corded with muscle from wielding a two-handed sword lay across her stomach and warm, rhythmic breath tickled her cheek. A painful need to visit the washroom tried to force her from the bed, but she refused its demand for acknowledgment. Instead, she focused her thoughts on the previous night.

She recalled Isabela flirting with Merrill, making Aveline blush when she gained the pirate's attention next and copping a feel in the area of second base before a tipsy Hawke could extract herself from the other woman's arms. Only a drunken Zevran's arrival diverted Isabela's lusty affections from the other women. When Zevran's hips began to gyrate seductively as he removed his clothes, Hawke could only gape, half-aroused fascination battling guilt for dominance while Fenris's face loomed in her mind. She remembered watching Zevran and Isabela in the library from her chandelier perch, substituting herself and Fenris for the others in her mind. Suddenly, he was there, as if her thoughts conjured him, watching Zevran and Isabela, too. Then, something about ladybits. And . . . .

_Oh no! Did I really call him_ mine? _Maker's breath, he'll never look me in the eye again!_

Thankful for the cold ashes in the hearth and heavy drapes blocking the windows to hide her blush, she cringed. Unable to keep the call of nature at bay much longer, she held her breath while easing from his embrace, slipping from beneath the quilt to fumble her way around the bed in the dark room. She whimpered and bit her knuckle when her toe bashed into the leg of a high-backed, cushioned armchair which meant she'd made it somewhere near the hearth. Hunched and limping, she shuffled further across the room until she sensed a wall before her, then stepped forward, only to thump against the wall as she misjudged the location of the washroom door. Cursing under her breath, she slid her palm across the wall until her fingertips met the door frame. With well-earned relief, she closed the door behind her and sighed before feeling her way around a small table beside her and lighting a candle.

When she emerged covering her breasts with one forearm and using her other hand to massage her temple, she discovered curtains parted just enough to admit a single beam of sunlight, illuminating an awakened Fenris. Wearing only a pair of loose linen pants and a smirk, he offered her a thin tunic dangling from the tip of one extended finger.

"Still a light sleeper?" she asked quietly, accepting the offer. "Thank you. Sorry if I woke you. You know, I don't recall what happened to my clothes, but if I was a betting woman, I'd say Isabela had something to do with their disappearance. Hmm, did you notice this matches the color of your eyes? Did you know green is my favorite color?"

One black eyebrow lifted in response to her nervous chatter, but he remained silent as he watched her slip into the shirt that reached to the middle of her thighs and was roomy enough that she couldn't keep its wide neck from baring one shoulder or the other. When she stopped fiddling with the tunic, he stepped forward. She blinked up at him, bracing herself as her breath hitched when he stared down at her and his hand moved toward her. She blushed when his fingers moved beyond her to pluck a shirt from a hook on the wall behind her, and she glanced away as he pulled it on, hiding the disappointment flaring in her eyes. Looking about the room for something to ogle beside Fenris and failing, her eyes eventually landed on his neck. She bit her lower lip sheepishly.

"I, um, vaguely recall you carrying me upstairs." She cleared her throat, then gestured toward the mark on his neck and asked, "Is that— Did I . . . ?"

When he simply smiled devilishly, she pressed her hand to her butterfly-filled belly, disturbing the tunic again, which slipped down from her shoulder once more. His eyes followed its descent as Hawke asked why he brought her to his room instead of her own. Fenris reached out to lift the garment back into place with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. A knock sounded at the bedroom door before he answered her query.

"Master . . . I mean, Ser— no, Fen— er, Serah Fenris?" Orana called through the door. "Mistress Hawke is not in her bedchamber or the courtyard or the library and the guests are awakening. What should I serve them, serah?"

He swept his fingertip over the aging bruise on the side of Hawke's neck, looked into her eyes for long moments that she would later remember as both passing too quickly and an event that stopped the passage of time completely as she failed to do anything more than return his gaze, then turned away. Blinking at the abrupt change in scenery, she inhaled deeply to settle her pounding heart and crossed to the door to yank it open. Orana's eyes widened before her gaze dropped to her feet.

"Good morning, Orana," Hawke said in greeting while biting back her irritation over the charged moment with Fenris being spoiled. "I'll help you set up a breakfast buffet. Our guests may serve themselves as they like."

She felt Fenris's presence at her shoulder as she followed Orana down to the ground floor.

"Some of the guests appear to be feeling the effects of their imbibing, Mistress," Orana said. "Should I fetch a Circle healer from the Gallows?"

Groaning and rubbing her own temples, Hawke said, "You may if the others wish it, but I can still hear my father's disapproving voice after he caught me sneaking back into our home one full moon when I was a teen. He said I earned my hangover and must endure it without magical aid to ease my suffering. So, I must do as Father says."

Beside her, Fenris chuckled approvingly.

#

That evening, he peeked through the open doorway to assess the gathering in the kitchen. Orana placed another steaming dish of food in the middle of the informal dining table as Sandal slipped a slice of meat to Maric beneath the tablecloth and Bodahn spooned a helping of boiled potatoes onto a plate. Hawke sat perched in her chair at the head of the table opposite the elder dwarf with her chin in hand, lost in thought as she stared at the flames shivering in the fireplace. Orana claimed the seat between the younger dwarf and her employer, leaving an empty setting to Hawke's left.

With his curiosity piqued, Fenris stepped through the door and asked, "Do you always set a place for a guest?"

Hawke glanced at him from the corner of her eye and smiled before explaining, "You are not a guest. You always have a place waiting for you at the table."

His brow furrowed, and he shifted his weight uneasily as he said, "I . . . didn't realize. I apologize."

She sat back against her chair to give him a candid look. "No apology necessary. We set a place for you each evening just in case. You are not obligated, but you are welcome to join us if you wish."

He glanced at the other elf, who refused to make eye contact, before his gaze moved to each of the dwarves as they stared back at him expectantly. Hawke bit her lip to control her smile, but to his amusement, she still nearly beamed when he removed his gauntlets and sat down. Her happiness enveloped him like a comforting blanket meant to keep nightmares and hardships at bay. Her reaction to his company, perhaps subdued in appearance to others, but which he could tell was sincerely enthusiastic from the way her eyes sparkled with delight, often made him feel warm all over, albeit unworthy of such regard. This evening was no exception, but he savored her nearness nonetheless.

"Mistress Hawke?" Orana asked, gazing down at her lap, not quite concealing a shy smile. Also a former slave, she had found herself unexpectedly freed from a cruel mistress then immediately gifted with Hawke as benefactor when offered paid employment, a comfortable bedroom of her own and the personal protection of she who would be Kirkwall's Champion soon after.

"Yes, please," Hawke responded cryptically.

Fenris watched Orana disappear from the kitchen and sent a quizzical look toward Hawke, who only grinned mischievously in return and asked Bodahn to pass the potatoes. When Orana appeared once more, she carried a familiar bottle. As Fenris tasted the specially selected wine, he arched an eyebrow and turned to Hawke once more.

She laughed, her deep blue eyes twinkling merrily, and replied, "Yes, it's Aggregio Pavali. And yes, we've been waiting for you to settle in and eventually—hopefully—join us." She lifted her glass in a toast and added, "Welcome home, Fenris."

The warmth in his eyes challenged the blaze in the fireplace.

#

As Bodahn and Sandal disappeared into other areas of the estate and Orana carried the remaining dishes away to the counter across the kitchen, Fenris watched Hawke from the corner of his eye as she contemplated the last sip of wine in her glass.

"I've never known someone to take their meals with their servants," he said quietly.

She laughed softly, then said, "I'm spoiled and have come to rely on their services to keep this place—and me—presentable, but I prefer to think of them as housemates rather than servants . . . however short their remaining time here may be. Bodahn's unsettled by the escalating conflict between the mages and templars and is thinking of leaving Kirkwall soon. He mentioned the Empress of Orlais is interested in Sandal's enchantments, so I think they'll go there. I'll miss them both." She sighed, a note of sadness not escaping his notice before she added, "As for Orana, I'll keep her with me as long as she'd like, of course, but will help her transition however I can when she's also ready for a change."

He nodded silently, then took a steadying breath.

"What are your plans for the remainder of the evening?" he asked with his eyes boring a hole in the surface of the table.

She tilted her head slightly, considering. "The word 'vegetate' comes to mind." She patted her belly and added, "That may or may not have to do with the amount of food I just consumed. Orana's cooking is certainly improving. Not that I'm complaining, but I fear my clothes will soon enough."

One corner of his mouth quirked into a lopsided smile, then he leaned closer to gather her full attention. When he'd captured her blue eyes with his green, he said in a low rumble, "Last night, you asked me to read a story to you. Would you like me to read now?"

She blushed as she stared at him with wide eyes, remembering her drunken confession about his voice serving as an aphrodisiac. When he didn't withdraw the offer or make light of it, her eyes slipped down to her lap, her demeanor much like the timid servant Orana's shyness earlier, then bit her lower lip and nodded.

"What shall I read? Perhaps one of Varric's novels? I believe his city guard series 'Hard In Hightown' is popular. Maybe his romance 'Swords & Shields' instead?"

Her head whipped up; she stared at him owlishly, spurring him on.

"Isabela left a book with me recently that she hoped I'd enjoy. She described it as _stimulating_. It is _lengthy_ and may take many _,_ perhaps nightly, sessions to reach a hopefully fulfilling _completion_." Something squeaked and when he realized the sound had come from her throat, his anxiety melted away as his expression shifted into one of pure male satisfaction. His voice deepened into a deliberate caress as he said, "I can think of no one I'd rather _have_ on this journey than you." A heartbeat, then he asked with a sly smile, "Will you _come_?"

He took her whimper as a yes.


	5. Trigger-Happy

Fighting to not betray her pounding heart and laboring breath until she could slip (hopefully nonchalantly) from his sight, Hawke closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Biting her lower lip, she pressed her legs together, seeking friction against her swollen clitoris. When that proved unsuccessful, she shoved her leggings down to mid-thigh, and gasped when cool air touched the warm wetness escaping her folds. She dipped a fingertip between them and moaned gratefully as it slid over the shrieking bundle of nerves begging for relief. She immediately imagined tongues at play.

_On her knees before him, she caressed his sac in one hand while her other slid his sheath back to expose him fully as she drew his engorged length into her throat, relishing the low growl he offered._

_Braced on her hands and knees above him now, straddling him as his hands gripped her ass cheeks, pulling her down to him as his tongue circled her clitoris then lapped along her slit just before it delved inside her cunt. His hips jerked as she responded by teasing the underside of his rigid length, running the tip of her tongue along the thick vein, hitting a particularly sensitive spot._

She slipped her other hand beneath her tunic to find one of her hardened nipples, plucking at it and rolling it between unsteady fingertips as she imagined his mouth taking turns at both—kissing, licking, gently biting them. She didn't spend much time on that fantasy, however, before she sent the pad of her finger seeking the core of her desire, plunging it into her cunt several times before she added another and began to pump them in and out in earnest, scraping the pads against the front wall with each pass.

"What have you done to me?" she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut as she fucked herself with her fingers.

_Straddling his bucking hips, her head thrown back and her breasts bouncing in his palms as he groaned in pleasure beneath her, she rode him wildly._

_Now, he braced himself above her, drawing her into a passionate kiss with soft lips and teasing nips and a seeking tongue that tasted of her, his sweat mingled with hers as his hips pounded against hers relentlessly._

She slowed her furiously pumping hand to rub deep inside again and again, teasingly, then slipped her fingers out and up to her awaiting clitoris, coating it in more of her slippery cream. Her fingers slicked their way down and into her channel once more as she rotated her hips to grind the base of her palm against her clitoris.

_And now, on her hands and knees once more, breasts swaying and toes curling in ecstasy, she urged him on and on, faster, harder, as he gripped her hips and fucked her from behind._

#

Fenris kept his ear against the door, listening carefully, and smiled with satisfaction when he heard her panting mere inches away. His hardened cock twitched in response to a muffled moan that sounded suspiciously like his name when she came. With his own arousal reaching a point of desperation and his tattoos already emanating a telltale soft bluish-white glow, he dashed up the stairs to his bedchamber to find his own relief in his fantasies.

_One chapter down_.

#

Hours later, she cracked a bleary eye and allowed it to travel from bare feet to legs covered in loose lounging pants draped low on slender hips, then over a stomach and chest lined in lyrium ivy. As the lingering firelight danced shadows across his tense form, she opened her other eye to peer at him expectantly when she reached his face at last.

"Fenris?" she whispered.

His gaze slid from her face to the floor as he shifted his weight beneath her scrutiny. "I-I dislike thunderstorms." He squeezed his eyes shut when thunder boomed overhead. "Greatly," he added in a much quieter rumble of his own.

Carefully schooling her features against her surprise at his revelation, she reached behind her to lift the quilt from the unoccupied expanse of bed in silent invitation. Moments later, his arm encircled her waist as he buried his face at the base of her neck and pressed his thighs against the back of hers, making her skin tingle everywhere he touched. When he released a long sigh of relief, she bit her lip and wrinkled her brow in contemplation.

"Does this have something to do with Danarius?" she asked when he'd settled behind her. He offered a monosyllabic positive response muffled against her back.

She leaned slightly as she turned to look back at him and he lifted his head away from her, but she caught only a peripheral glimpse of his face.

"What did you do back at the manor during a storm?"

"I kept a supply of wine for a reason."

A light shiver raced up her spine when his breath tickled her ear, but she ignored it in favor of noting he smelled of only wood smoke, weapon oil and _him_.

"You didn't want to try more wine tonight?" she asked.

He buried his face once more and his arm squeezed her gently as he said, "Wine is a last resort. You are not."

With a smile, she relaxed against her pillow once more, then skimmed her palm down the arm he held against her stomach and over the red fabric wrapped about his wrist to thread her fingers through his. As she lay listening to his breathing settle into an easy rhythm, she thought back to the day of his former master's death, when they began to touch one another again at last, a time just a handful of days before she found herself running from the De Launcet's gala only to discover her legs unexpectedly carried her straight to him . . . .

#

Hawke sighed once more, listlessly riffling through swatches of fabrics with unfocused eyes as she wandered the market district of Hightown in the early evening hours.

"He'll be fine, Hawke. Needing some time to himself after that whole ordeal with his sister and Danarius . . . . Well, it's understandable."

"I know, Varric," she said, frowning. "I just wish I could ease his heartache somehow and convince him he's not alone."

"Champion, come quick!" a city guard called, skidding to a halt in front of her group.

"What is it, guardsman?" she asked, peering into his sweaty, flushed face as he struggled to calm his labored breathing.

"The Guard-Captain sent me. She needs you in Lowtown without delay! That elf with the strange markings . . . well, he's gone mad!"

A ball of anxiety tightened in her stomach as she, Varric, Isabela and Merrill followed the harried messenger. When they reached Lowtown, they sprinted past vendor stalls in the bazaar, beyond the Hanged Man tavern and into an alley near the foundry district. Her heart lurched as they entered and she found Aveline and nearly a dozen guards forming a circle around an enraged Fenris, his lyrium tattoos burning brightly and a grim set to his mouth as he stood poised among a pile of bodies, several with fist-sized holes in their chests, ready to strike as he faced off against Donnic and Sebastian. His sword was no longer strapped to his back nor in his gore-covered hands.

"Oh!" Merrill gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth as she stared in horror.

Aveline noticed their arrival and cautiously edged her way over to quietly say, "The guard on patrol received complaints of a disturbance in the alienage and investigated. She found Fenris terrorizing the residents, bashing in doors, destroying property. She said he seemed . . . conflicted—bent on destruction, yet seemingly struggling for control, muttering to himself. As far as I know, he didn't harm anyone there seriously, but then he fled the area and she sent for backup. We tried to locate you first, but I had to try something in the meantime when I discovered you weren't home and sent for Sebastian. We next caught up with him here, rampaging, slaughtering. Truth be told, I'm thankful none were innocent citizens. He seems to have targeted known thugs and, if I interpreted the sigil correctly, Followers of She, homicidal cultists that have been plaguing the city recently." At Hawke's nod, she continued. "One of the guardsmen got too close, however, and Fenris struck him down. I'm not certain of the severity of his injuries, but I believe he's still alive.

"I don't know what's happening, Hawke, but he doesn't seem to recognize me." She made a small gesture toward her husband and Sebastian and added, "Or his friends. We have to get this situation under control before innocents end up injured . . . or dead. You know I care about him, but he's trained to be a lethal weapon. That was his purpose in life not so long ago. If I have to take him out to keep the citizens safe . . . ." She trailed off with a pained expression.

Hawke turned her attention back to the center of the circle and listened to Donnic and Sebastian try to placate Fenris again. On the heels of another failed attempt, she stepped up behind a guardsman and nudged him aside to proceed slowly into the circle with her heart in her throat and her vision threatening to turn black with the weight of the surreal situation she suddenly found herself in.

"Careful, Hawke," Varric warned softly just as Isabela asked, "Are you sure about this?"

She didn't acknowledge the warning or the question and instead chose to keep her eyes on Fenris, who remained coiled with tension, but quiet. His eyes shifted to her to watch her approach, and he growled threateningly when she stopped next to Donnic and Sebastian. Someone—she assumed one of the guards for she did not recognize the voice—muttered something about putting a rabid wolf out of its misery.

"Thank you, gentlemen. I'll take it from here."

"Hawke . . . ," Sebastian said just above a whisper.

She shook her head, still keeping her eyes on Fenris, and commanded, "Go."

As the two men backed away, she held up her hands to show they were empty. Willing herself to not reveal the panic ravaging her gut, she maintained a mostly steady voice as she announced, "I am surrendering my weapons."

She heard rapid whispering swell in volume behind her as she slowly unsheathed her twin daggers and lowered them to the ground, but she ignored it as she relinquished the knives in her boots, at her belt and strapped to her thigh.

"Now, my armor."

He continued to watch her closely as she unbuckled the straps of her leather armor. She kept her movements cautious, measured until she wore only a loosely-belted tunic, leggings and boots. Primarily defenseless now, she mentally steadied herself and met his gaze once more.

"I am no longer armed or armored. I simply wish to speak with you." When he did not respond, she asked, "Do you know me?"

Again, he didn't reply, only continued to glow menacingly as he glared at her without a spark of recognition to be found in his cold eyes.

"I am Seraphina Hawke. We have known one another for quite a number of years. I count you among my most trusted and most cherished friends, Fenris."

The fire in his eyes shifted slightly, allowing a bit of confusion to show, but he did not speak. When she took a step toward him, however, the tension in his shoulders visibly increased.

"Years ago, you and your family were the slaves of a magister and lived in the Tevinter Imperium. You were once named Leto, but the magister gave you the name Fenris, his 'little wolf', his . . . pet. He sometimes even made you wear a leash. You won freedom for your mother and sister in a competition, then later escaped yourself after the magister—with you as his bodyguard—found himself caught up in a battle during a Qunari invasion of Seheron, the island of your birth. After running from him for so long, you confronted and killed your former master today."

His eyes narrowed, and he said, "It is on my master's order I kill today."

"You do not have to obey that order. No one commands you now. You may do as you like for you are free." She swallowed against her painfully dry throat, then said. "You met your sister Varania today, too. When you learned of her existence and reached out to her in the interest of building a relationship with your only remaining family . . . . She betrayed you, Fenris. It was through her that Danarius launched his final attempt to capture you again so many years after your escape."

"You lie," he spat.

She took another step toward him and his bloody, gauntlet-covered hands curled into fists. She wondered if her life should already be flashing before her eyes, but she would not back down now. She cared too much to walk away.

"No, Fenris, I would never lie to you. I respect you too much, and I care about you too much to do that."

"Someone like you would never respect a slave like me," he snarled with disgust.

"Just before you killed him, Danarius said something to you that I couldn't hear. A word, a phrase perhaps. Do you remember what it was?"

His brow wrinkled in confusion, and she could see him struggling with recollection. She managed a couple more steps toward him before his eyes refocused on her and he sneered.

She held up her hands once more and kept her expression passive as she said, "I gave you a book as a gift once. It was _A Slave's Life_ , written by Shartan, leader of the elven slaves who joined the Maker's bride Andraste to rebel against the Tevinter Imperium. You told me then that slaves were not permitted to read and so had never learned. We worked together to change that, and you're an avid reader now. You still practice reading aloud to me from time to time. You borrow books from my personal library often."

Another step.

"Everyone knows me as Hawke, my family name, or as the daughter of an Amell, my mother's family. I've been called many other things as well. 'Girl' is how my uncle keeps it simple. To some nobles, particularly Orlesians, I am 'Fereldan turnip', 'backwater mongrel', 'blasted she-bitch' even. While some Qunari have called me _basra_ —"

"A foreign thing without purpose," he recited, startling her.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "A Qunari mage, a Saarebas, once told me I am _basvaarad_."

"A non-Qunari worthy of following."

Again, she nodded, then continued, "And the Arishok declared me _basalit-an_."

"An outsider worthy of respect," he murmured one more time.

"But none have affected me as much as the fact that when we're alone together, you address me as Seraphina, a name previously used only by my parents and siblings. Not even my oldest friends, Aveline and Varric, use my first name. Even more significant to me is sometimes you—and you alone—shorten it to a nickname: Sera."

"Now _that's_ something I didn't know," she overheard Varric say in a low voice from his place outside the circle of guards.

She took another step.

"The people of this city call me Champion because of what I have done for them. They see me as a protector. But you, Fenris . . . . You are not concerned with my title. You know me for who I really am. You see inside of me, to the parts I can't share with everyone. I confided in only you when my sister Bethany came to me and said she would turn herself in to the templars when we returned from the Deep Roads, whether or not we were successful with rebuilding the family fortune from our findings." She thought she heard at least one of her friends stir at this soft-spoken revelation, but did not turn from Fenris. "My family had nowhere left to go, and she didn't want us running to keep her hidden from Chantry scrutiny any longer. She'd been considering it since Father's death, but knew how hurt Mother would be. Still, Bethany didn't want to be an apostate anymore. She was prepared to embrace Chantry law finally, even though it meant spending the rest of her life in the Gallows. And I–I shared with you my heartache about losing my sister as well as my relief that the responsibility of striking her down should the magic that leaves her vulnerable to demons finally prove too tempting would not be mine any longer. I wouldn't have to play templar to my sister anymore. The guilt of that relief was nearly unbearable, but you listened. You let me share it."

"Holy shit," Varric muttered.

"Varric!" Aveline hissed in annoyance.

Ignoring them still, Hawke's focus remained on the elf before her as she continued, "You offered sympathy when that same sister was taken by the blight in the Deep Roads, Fenris. And you were there when the . . . the thing that was once my mother died in my arms. Things had become so awkward between us by then, but still you came to comfort me and to sit with me that night even when words failed us both.

"From nearly the first night we met and even still today, I seek your company when I need to work through emotional turmoil. You look at me when I arrive and without a word, you simply offer your bottle of wine. Sometimes we sit together in complete silence for a long, long time, drinking your wine and watching your fire. You let me simply _exist_ beside you whenever this world has become just too much to bear. You alone know when Hawke, the so-called Champion of Kirkwall, is broken."

He blinked at her, shocked, and the malice in his eyes noticeably softened.

"Before we—you and me and Varric and Bethany—went to the Deep Roads, I visited you alone for the first time shortly after you'd joined our little band of misfits. I wanted to know more about the warrior I'd asked to come with us. When I arrived, you held a bottle of Aggregio Pavali in your hand, a favored Tevinter wine of the magister you once called Master. You told me he would make you pour it for his guests because your appearance intimidated them, and then you smashed the bottle against the wall. I teased you about redecorating the walls with expensive wine." She smiled a little, reminiscing briefly, but kept her attention on the bewitched elf in front of her. "We flirted a bit in a horribly awkward, but (I like to think) endearing way. You promised to practice your flattery for the next visit in the hopes of becoming better at it."

Another step brought her within arms reach as she said, "Do you remember, Fenris, just you and me and my mabari war hound, prowling through Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown and even the warehouse districts at the docks, taking out bands of thugs night after night and groups of slavers day after day? Choreographing our movements in battle to complement one another until we became two bodies with one mind, one goal. Until anyone who has seen us fight beside each other automatically looks for the other when they see one of us. You even taught me a modified version of a charging maneuver you call 'Reaper's Scythe' where I rush a group of foes, barreling through them to knock them down so I can pick them off one at a time more easily with my daggers. When we went into the Deep Roads, we were already well-rehearsed, _trusted_ shadows to one another in battle."

She looked up into his face and slowly lifted her hand to press her palm lightly against his chest.

"The heart that beats here belongs to a free man, Fenris."

The crowd gasped collectively and she swallowed reflexively when his fingers suddenly curled around her throat and tightened threateningly, but she maintained eye contact and held up her other hand to silently halt anyone stepping forward. Slowly, she reached with her free hand for his. Still staring at her with eyes narrowed in suspicion, he allowed her to lift it even so, and she pressed it flat against her own breastbone, not sparing a moment's thought for the gory mess being squished against her chest as she let him feel her thundering heartbeat.

"Hawke!"

Ignoring Aveline's alarm, she fervently whispered to Fenris, "I have never lied to you. From the beginning, I didn't hide my attraction to you. And you've known for at least three years now that the heart that beats here is yours. Do you remember the night you came to me—the night we spent together in my bed? We awoke and reached for one another many times. But you began to recall your life before Danarius embedded the lyrium and ink in your flesh in an excruciating procedure which stole your memories of your time before it, all so he could have another source of power available at all times. The revelations—and their abrupt loss for a second time—overwhelmed you; you told me it was too much, too fast. And then you left. You took my family crest with you and have worn it on your belt since." Her hand slid down the back of his sharp metal gauntlet to encircle his wrist gently. "This red fabric around your wrist . . . . You've worn my favor since that night, too. Its continued presence keeps me hoping that when you've slain your inner dragons at last, and can see that you _do_ have so much to offer and _it's all right for you to be happy_ , our one night together will turn into more."

After several moments in which they simply stared at each other, the fingers gripping her neck loosened but remained against her skin, and he gazed down at her with hard eyes in which she could read his struggle—and desire—to believe.

Softly, she said, "I'm going to count backward from five and when I'm finished, you will awaken. Whatever spell or word or phrase Danarius used to trigger your slave conditioning will no longer hold power over you. When I finish counting down, Fenris, your memories will be yours again. You will know yourself as the brave, loyal, _caring_ person we know you to be. When I finish counting down, you will remember the years you've spent away from Danarius. You will remember killing him today and truly gaining your freedom. You will remember me. You will remember your friends. You will remember the happiness you found in Kirkwall with us, the people that care about you."

His hand slipped away from her throat, leaving bits of his victims' bloodied flesh and organs in its wake, and as she counted aloud, they both stood with one hand pressed against the other's chest. After, he blinked several times to clear his vision then canted forward until his forehead rested against her shoulder. He shuddered and exhaled slowly as the glow from his markings faded.

"Happiness," he rasped tiredly, longingly.

Using her cleanest hand, she combed her fingers through his hair soothingly as her heart trembled with relief. Behind her, she could hear those gathered speaking quietly, as if to not draw the exhausted elf's attention, as they began searching among the fallen for survivors.

 


	6. Whiskey Lullaby

With a small, labeled package in hand, she climbed the staircase to the third floor, but halted abruptly when she found an intruder kneeling before the door to Fenris's chambers with one eye centered over the keyhole. Hawke cleared her throat loudly, then barked a short laugh when Isabela broke off her mumbling about obstructions and line of sight and toppled backward onto her rump, kicking her booted foot solidly against the door as she went.

Splashing water and muffled cursing from the other side of the door stole her attention as Isabela gained her feet and dusted herself off. Moments later, Fenris wrenched open the door just as the glow of his tattoos winked out, and he stood scowling with a towel gripped in one hand to keep it around his hips. His hair dripped down his face, water droplets joining the others already sliding over his freshly-scrubbed neck, shoulders, arms, chest, stomach . . . .

_Oh, my. He's . . . his . . . . Was he doing what I think he was doing?_

"Ooh, you've been at it a while. Your hand must be tired by now," Isabela purred. "I'll help you hold the towel, big boy."

Fenris glared at her, then looked at a speechless, wide-eyed Hawke and growled, "Why is she here?"

Hawke blinked and quieted the fantasy about following the rivulets of water on his body with her tongue, then shoved the package at him.

"A messenger brought this for you." She glanced at Isabela as he accepted the box with his free hand, then shrugged. "She's your guest today, not mine."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and walked away.

#

He made his way through the busy Hightown market as the crowd split before him and murmurs of "Champion's elf" followed in his wake. As much as he longed for exactly that and no matter how irresistible he found her, she deserved better than the cowardly likes of him, so he kept his scowl in place. He had nothing to offer anyone, including a smile for undeserving passersby. When he heard a familiar laugh that made his pulse quicken, he looked up and found her on the far side of the square being chased by her bouncing, rump-wagging mabari. She wore a messenger bag strapped across her torso, supplies for a short trip perhaps. Curious, he angled toward her as he cut through the throngs of milling shoppers.

As dusk approached and her stride took her outside the city, his curiosity turned to apprehension and he shifted instinctively into a guardian frame of mind. He trailed her along the Wounded Coast, ducking behind sparse bushes as necessary, taking particular care to keep her dog oblivious to his company. Thankfully, the ocean winds remained in his favor, carrying her recognizable scent salted by the tang of the sea back to him.

When she disappeared from view over a steep sand dune, he crept to a large boulder near its summit, huddling against it as he shielded his eyes from the setting sun to see her join two other figures in a somewhat secluded, serene cove. He watched the silhouette of an elven man tussle with the dog while she and another woman—a woman with distinct, familiar curves—stood chatting. When the sun slipped beneath the horizon at last, he rubbed his eyes then peeked around again to find his suspicions correct: Zevran and Isabela. He settled on his haunches—determined, watchful.

After a while, the dog wandered away from the sheltered swimming hole with his nose nudging the sand and his stubby tail wagging happily. Zevran used the pile of driftwood gathered nearby to build a fire while Isabela rummaged through a pack and surfaced with two bottles of amber liquid, holding up each as she struck a triumphant pose. Fenris watched for some time while the three rogues lounged in a circle around the fire, passing time with whiskey and rum, laughing and talking.

He used the opportunity to take the Antivan's measure while the other remained unaware. Swift and agile, the bare-chested blond elf was not as tall or bulky as the lyrium-infused warrior. Where Fenris remained defensive and hunched in the posture of an injured, abused dog even all these years later, Zevran Arainai exuded the grace and confidence of an arrogant cat comfortable in his own skin. He found the other elf's strong jaw and the full lips curved into a lazy, seductive smile appealing, his amber eyes attractive.

He moved on to the pirate when she laughed raucously at something Zevran said. He thought her pretty and her curvy figure enticing, but wished she would leave her dark hair free of the blue bandanna sometimes. He'd rarely seen her without it in the years he'd known her now. She decorated herself with abundant shiny baubles, which added gold sparkle to her dark skin, but he didn't believe any of the pieces necessary additions either, for her skin was lovely already. He thought she wore her jewelry like she wore her humor—as a shield.

With pleasure, his eyes returned to Hawke as he watched Isabela suddenly pounce on her, straddling her stomach as she pinned her back against the sandy ground. Laughing, Hawke lifted a leg, hooked her knee around Isabela's throat and toppled her backward, trapping the pirate's upper torso between her legs as she twisted onto her side. The women wrestled as Zevran shouted encouragement to both.

His Sera was not as well-endowed in certain areas as Isabela nor quite as prominently muscled as Zevran, but to Fenris, whose heart beat faster each time she looked at him, even her so-called flaws—the slight gap between her front teeth, the thumbprint-sized light brown stain of a birth mark just behind one earlobe, her awkward and often inappropriate timing with jokes, her distressingly shrill inability to distinguish one musical note from another—were endearing. A few inches shorter than him with slender curves he knew from experience fit his hands well and skin color a shade or two lighter than his own, deep blue eyes, blue-black hair that fell past her shoulders when she wore it free and swept across her eyes as it inevitably escaped being held back when she tried to tame it, he found her enthralling. Strong and tough, yet warm and kind was his Sera.

His wandering thoughts returned to the present when the women parted and Isabela suddenly dropped the blue sash from around her hips, then flung off her top, not caring to notice where it landed.

Laughing, Zevran glanced at Hawke and said pointedly, "Seems one of us is still overdressed, yes?"

"Oh, no, sweet thing," Isabela protested. "You're both overdressed. I shucked my pants long, long ago. Come on! We're on the beach, and it's a _steamy_ summer evening. I want to see some glistening bodies!"

Hawke rolled her eyes as Zevran bent to oblige the demand, removing his boots and the last of his leather armor.

"I don't think I've ever seen you wear pants at all, Bela," Hawke said. "Here I'd thought all along you don't even own any."

Isabela laughed, then gestured toward Hawke's own leggings. "Quit stalling," she ordered in her most commanding captain-of-the-ship voice just as Maric barked a greeting.

So lost in watching the shenanigans was he, Fenris took several moments to acknowledge the dog's presence beside him as he suddenly drew the attention of all three rogues. Scooping up a liquor bottle, Hawke climbed the dune with her brow furrowed, intent on investigation. When she saw him kneeling behind the boulder, growling softly as he glared at her dog, she leaned a hip against the rock and squinted at him suspiciously.

"Out for a stroll, are we?"

His eyes followed her shape from her knees up her thighs, over the flare of her hips, along the curve of her waist and to the swell of her breasts then skipped up to meet her gaze steadily as he refused to flinch away from the intensity he found there. Her lips were set in a disapproving line, but . . . were her eyes twinkling at him? Was she _happy_ to see him? Having expected anger, confusion momentarily clouded his thoughts.

"No," he said simply.

"Perhaps you'd care to provide an alternate explanation then?"

He sighed, then said, "You left the city with only Maric for protection."

"Hawke, everything all right?" Isabela called from below.

She signaled the 'all okay' to the waiting pair, then asked Fenris, "You're playing bodyguard for me?"

"I don't _play_ bodyguard," he snapped defensively. "I _am_ a bodyguard."

She lowered the bottle of whiskey and held it in front of him, then waited until he accepted it before she said, "You _were_ a bodyguard, but you _are_ much more than a bodyguard now, Fenris. Most importantly at the moment, you are behind; the three of us are halfway to drunk already, so come down and catch up."

She walked away, loosening an armor strap while turning once to smile somewhat shyly at him over her shoulder. The pleasure in her eyes beckoned him, infusing him with warmth and the courage to join them below.

#

Standing by the fire, he took a deep swallow of whiskey as the last of Hawke's clothes fell on the pile at her feet, leaving her in only ink-colored underclothes.

"Ooh, I like black," Isabela crooned as her gaze swept over Hawke's body. "The bandeau goes next!"

Laughing, Hawke shook her head and said, "I'm not drunk enough for that yet, but it's been known to happen."

With visions of a nearly naked Hawke hanging suspended from a chandelier followed by a loud twosome in the library, then thoughts of threesomes and even a foursome clamoring in his head, Fenris took another pull from the bottle, only to find Zevran staring at him intently across the fire when he lowered it once more. Isabela reached him first, however, sauntering up to him with a distinct sway in her hips and a hungry glimmer in her eyes. She trailed a fingertip down his metal breastplate.

"If you want to join us, sweet thing, you'll have to _really_ join us," she challenged, hooking her finger over the edge of his armor and tugging lightly.

Silently, he shoved the bottle of whiskey into her hand and stepped away, shedding his armor. Beside him, Hawke picked up a bottle of rum to drink from it, then kept her eyes averted as he undressed. He did his best to ignore the presence of others as he removed his tunic, even when Isabela commented on his tattooed torso. When he folded his arms across his chest with finality and stared into the fire, she prodded him about removing his leather leggings to which he simply shook his head mutely. He glanced up when he heard Hawke chuckle softly and smirked when her knowing smile tempted him to return it in kind. Zevran and Isabela both glanced at her with curiosity burning in their gazes, but neither Hawke nor Fenris offered further explanation.

"Hawke's had her slice of the pie already," Isabela pouted. "When do I get a taste?"

He glanced at Hawke again, then bit the inside of his cheek to keep from revealing his amusement when he saw her eyebrow arched and her humorless gaze leveled at the pirate in warning.

"Promises, promises," Hawke quietly reminded her.

Isabela scoffed and gestured towards Fenris's bare chest while throwing Hawke a pleading look in wordless explanation.

"Perhaps more sparring?" Zevran suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

"That's a lovely idea, Zev," Hawke said as she shrugged off her mood and set down the bottle of rum. When she straightened, she sprinted toward Fenris and jumped, toppling the surprised warrior back onto the sand as he caught her.

Giggling, she braced her palms against his shoulders and pressed her weight down on him, but soon found herself looking up into his smug face when he rolled on top of her and pinned her wrists. She squirmed in his grasp, inching away until he released one of her wrists and slipped an arm beneath her to haul her back into position beneath him. His nostrils flared, and his green eyes darkened to the color of a pine forest at night as his gaze slid down her flushed face to her lips. She bent one of her knees and hooked it over his hip to pull his body closer as she lifted her chin until her lips almost touched his. Then, she thrust her pelvis against his hip, flipping him onto his back, taking him by surprise once more. He growled and released her other wrist to clamp both arms around her waist, trapping her securely against him as she laughed breathlessly. Again and again they rolled and squirmed against one another, shifting between who was pinned and who was pinning, until they were both covered with sand sticking to their sweat-dampened skin, panting, nearly overwhelmed with a clawing need to rip away the last bits of clothing and rut like wild animals.

"That's more flirting and fucking each other with just your eyes than actual sparring, if I may say so, my friends," Zevran pointed out, chuckling from the spectator's sideline. "Not that I'm complaining. Please continue the show!"

Isabela licked her lips as her gaze roamed the sand-covered pair and said, "I need a fierce fuck or some cold water immediately." She turned to Zevran, grabbed his wrist and yanked him to the ground with her right there across the fire from Hawke and Fenris.

Zevran laughed and exclaimed, "Arrrgh, Pirate Zevran reporting for duty. Prepare to be boarded!"

#

Bracing himself above her on his elbow, Fenris lifted his head from Hawke's shoulder and looked at her. When she smiled up at him, he ran his thumb along her cheek and brushed it lightly across her lower lip.

Whispering, she asked, "We have the light of a full moon, a hot, humid night and lots of itchy sand. Would you like to go for a swim with me?"

He gave her a lopsided smile and nodded. Maric followed them to splash about in the shallows. They found the water warm and inviting in the late summer evening as well as relatively serene in the secluded pool almost completely surrounded by sand bars. Fenris surprised her by keeping her hand in his, but she didn't comment on it aloud, choosing instead to simply revel in his sudden willingness to share a public display of affection even if their audience was too occupied with one another to notice.

They rinsed the sand from their hair, then wrestled and splashed each other playfully, sometimes snickering like children when they overheard particularly loud groans from the beach. When they settled into a comfortable silence, a mesmerized Fenris watched the moonlight play across the droplets beading on her skin as she floated on the surface of the water, gazing up at the stars.

Her stomach muscles twitched when his hand unexpectedly glided over them. Her eyes closed, and she sighed contentedly when his fingertips splayed across her to massage five individual points simultaneously on her abdomen. He ducked beneath the water and resurfaced slowly with his lips grazing her cheek, letting her head rest atop his shoulder like a pillow as she curled an arm around to the back of his neck to keep herself from floating away. He took advantage of her exposed midriff and lifted both hands to her skin this time. His palms glided from her hips up over her ribs, but stopped when he reached the bottom of her bandeau. When he nipped her earlobe, she shivered and nearly lost the control she had on her floating.

"You were doing so well, Sera," he teased softly in her ear. "Do you suddenly find staying afloat difficult?"

His thumbs brushed the outer swells of her breasts, and she bit her lip to quieten a longing sigh. When his tongue dipped inside her ear, she melted against him . . . and ended up fully submerged. She came up spluttering even with the help of her chuckling antagonist. Having regained her footing, she turned to splash water at him and found herself lifted against him by strong arms encircling her waist as his eyes twinkled merrily.

"I apologize. That was mean."

She hummed skeptically. "That's the most insincere apology I've ever heard."

He chuckled once more and confessed, "I did enjoy that."

She pouted and grumped at him, then caught an unexpected glimpse of what he usually kept hidden when she glanced up into his eyes once more. Her lips parted slightly as she struggled to breathe beneath the weight of a combination of longing and fear in his gaze. For the briefest of moments, his arms tightened around her as he leaned forward. Just when she thought his lips would finally touch hers, he blinked and the desire burning in the fields of green she stared into turned to regret briefly just before his mask dropped into place once more. He stepped back and gestured toward the shore, not meeting her gaze as she simply looked at him mutely for several moments, then turned to lead them back to the beach.

They returned to the campfire where they pointedly ignored the fact Zevran's head was buried between a moaning Isabela's thighs as they gathered their belongings and moved closer to the water, just out of sight of the lovers. Hawke spread a blanket across dry sand, then laid on her back to gaze up at the moon as Fenris sat beside her with his elbows balanced on his bent knees and stared out over the waves lapping at the beach. Immersed in the lusty moans and heavy panting a short distance away, they each fell into their own thoughts and fantasies as minutes rolled by and their damp bodies dried in the sea breeze. Only when the lovers cried out their names—Isabela's a wish for Fenris and Zevran's a desire for Hawke—did their eyes widen and meet. Hawke swallowed against a suddenly dry throat and looked away from Fenris, nearly squirming as Zevran's hoarse shout awoke buried fantasies and deepened her blush.

She'd given in to the liquor insisting she relax and nearly drifted off to sleep before Fenris moved to stretch out beside her on the blanket. When she turned to look at his face once more, Hawke found him watching her silently without discernible expression. His hand traveled the small distance between them to thread his fingers through hers.

On the dune above them, the mabari sat on his haunches, surveying the moonlit landscape, listening to the wind.


	7. Spilled Beans

"You want to what?" Hawke asked.

"I'll give you a name," Aveline said, "and you say the first word that comes to your mind. Don't analyze, just answer. It moves quickly."

Warily, Hawke replied, "I can't help feeling your motive is to pry into my personal feelings and maybe dig up gossip fodder."

Aveline scoffed. "I do not gossip."

"That still leaves nosiness, Aveline," Hawke answered pointedly, then asked, "Why am I going first?"

Voice tinged with exasperation, Aveline explained, "Because you're the hostess of this dinner party."

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Hawke said, "I'll try it . . . once."

"Good." Aveline cleared her throat primly. "Now, remember, don't think about your answers, simply give the first thing that pops into your mind. Just a word or two." She looked down at the list in her hand and said, "Let's begin with me: Aveline."

"Family," Hawke replied, earning a smile from the other woman.

"Donnic."

"Shield."

Aveline looked at Hawke curiously and asked, "Elaborate?"

"Yours, of course, just as you're his."

The warrior appeared thoughtful before returning to the list. "Merrill."

"Dedication."

"Isabela."

"Desire."

Across the room, the pirate laughed softly.

"Sebastian."

"Faith."

"Varric."

"Oh, for some reason that escapes me," Hawke responded with a smirk, "I'm going to say trust."

"Aw, you know it's mutual, Hawke."

Aveline shushed the dwarf and said, "Zevran."

"Passion."

"Fenris."

_I will not look at him._

"Heart," she said quietly.

"What was that, Hawke? Did you say art?" Isabela teased, stirring a few snickers from the others.

"Was it art? I thought it was smart," Varric chimed in helpfully. "Part? Part smart? Smart part?"

"Or tart," Isabela added, glancing at Fenris to find him glowering at her. "Maybe I should taste him and find out?"

_I will end you both._

"Heart," Hawke repeated with a growl, not daring to look at anyone's face.

_No, don't blush, damn it!_

Lips twitching with amusement, Aveline asked, "Explain?"

_Sorry, Donnic, but your wife has only the time it takes me to murder Isabela and Varric to escape my wrath._

She squinted at Aveline. "Mine."

"Oh, that's so sweet," Merrill murmured.

_Don't look at him._

"All right, all right," Aveline said, gesturing to silence the room once more. "Let's move on. Anders."

"Lost," Hawke replied with a frown.

"Gamlen."

Her response of "curmudgeon" earned her a few chuckles from those gathered who had met her uncle.

"Charade."

"Clever," she replied as Gamlen's daughter and her plot to finally meet her father came to mind.

"Bethany."

Hawke hesitated and blinked several times as her sister's face swam in her vision before she said, "Sunshine."

Varric sighed sorrowfully.

"Carver."

Hawke mused about her grumpy brute of a younger brother, so unlike his petite twin sister in all but hair color and a consistent thorn in his oldest sister's side. Still, what she wouldn't give to hear him grousing just once more.

"Thunder," she answered at last.

"Leandra."

Her mother's face filled her mind, and she looked at Aveline with hardened eyes before she whispered through clenched teeth, "Lilies."

Aveline nodded, then quietly said, "Malcolm."

She thought of her father, escaping the Circle of Magi, assisting the Grey Wardens, building a life with her mother as best they could while keeping himself and Bethany from being captured by templars.

"Protector."

"Seraphina."

"Broken." Hawke's chin lifted slightly as she added, "But still breathing."

Silence stretched until Orana appeared to quietly announce the meal was ready.

#

After dinner, Aveline and Donnic claimed a love seat, Fenris lounged at the base of the staircase leading to the study's second floor library, Zevran stretched out before the hearth in the firelight and Hawke curled up in the corner of her favorite sofa opposite Varric.

"Maker . . . truth," Aveline said.

Merrill tilted her head slightly, considering options, then asked the group, "Are we allowed to ask personal questions?"

"That's the point, Kitten," Isabela replied as she draped herself over an armchair once more with her refilled whiskey glass in hand, reaching over to comb her fingers through the elf's short black hair affectionately.

"Why are we playing this game again?" Hawke grumped. "Not enough liquor in this house for this." She scowled when no one agreed with her.

Merrill looked back at Aveline and asked, "How many lovers have you had?"

Aveline blinked at the elf, her mouth opening and closing without sound like a fish as Varric chortled and congratulated Merrill on a well-chosen question.

"I–I suppose . . . eleven," she answered awkwardly amid chuckles and snickers.

Isabela grinned at the guard with surprised delight.

Crossing her well-muscled arms over her chest defensively, Aveline retorted, "What? I had a life before marrying my late husband and joining the army. Some men are drawn to women who possess different _charms_ than yours." After a significant delay and without much ferocity in the delivery, she added, "Whore."

Isabela laughed, then mused aloud, "What other juicy bits is our big girl keeping to herself, I wonder?"

Aveline glowered at her before sending her gaze among the others. When her eyes settled, she asked, "Truth or dare, Zevran?"

"Dare," he replied after some consideration.

"All right, my first thought is a simple dare, so I'll go with it just to move this along away from me, if you please. I dare you to kiss someone. Your choice."

Smirking, he rose onto his hands and knees and crawled across the silent room. Everyone watched as he knelt before a stunned Fenris, who stared back at him mutely. Zevran leaned in and gently pressed his lips to the other elf's, giving the recipient the opportunity to pull away, but after a brief hesitation, Fenris closed his eyes and accepted the invitation. Encouraged, Zevran drew Fenris into a deeper kiss that lasted so long, several other faces were flushed when the panting elves finally parted.

Zevran hummed with pleasure and murmured, "I just knew you'd taste divine." He offered Fenris an appreciative smile before he stood up and returned to his previous lounging spot. "Definitely not tart, Isabela," he added as he passed her chair, earning a laugh and a wink from her.

With his cheeks and the tips of his ears tinted red, Fenris glanced in Hawke's direction to find she had a hand pressed against her chest as she stared at him with wide eyes and a big grin on her face. He smirked and shook his head slightly.

"Hawke?" Grinning slyly, the Antivan asked, "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." She arched an eyebrow when his grin widened upon hearing her response.

"Tell us your most cherished sexual fantasy—the one you think about most when you're alone and touching yourself, the one guaranteed to bring you to orgasm, the one you swore to never share."

Her jaw dropped. "You want me to break a promise to myself?"

"Harmless in this case, is it not?"

"Not necessarily," she retorted with a frown. She stared at him for a time before huffing with exasperation. "Once more I ask _why_ are we playing this game yet again?" She was met with several chuckles, but no offers of escape. "In my house," she continued. "While drinking my liquor. After eating my food."

"Hawke," Fenris admonished.

"Hey, that's right. This is my house. I can make you all leave. Get out."

"Hawke."

She glanced at him and said, "Well, _you_ can stay, I guess." She surveyed the room, noting stubborn expressions, then cursed and tossed back the remainder of her drink. To her lap, she mumbled her answer.

"What was that, my dear?" Zevran asked, amusement barely restrained.

"Threesome," she barked at him.

Isabela scoffed. " _That's_ your big fantasy? We can take care of that right now. Who's our third? Zev? Fenris? Oh, oh! Should we send for Sebastian? You want to be _blessed_ by a priest? _Crowned_ by royalty? Or"—she paused dramatically as her gaze landed on the pair of city guards present—"maybe _arrested_ by someone in uniform?"

Donnic flushed with embarrassment; Aveline glared at the pirate.

"Ah, Isabela, I am thinking it's not just the fact it's a threesome, but the details that are key." Zevran studied Hawke intently and when she schooled her face into a blank mask, he prodded again. "Who is it that participates in this fantasy with you?"

Hawke shook her head. "One question, one answer, Zev."

Fenris's resultant chuckle felt like a caress, the timbre making her face heat even more than answering Zevran's first question.

"Time to change the subject," she declared. Turning to her left, Hawke demanded, "Truth or dare, Varric?" before anyone else could speak again. When he requested a dare, she said, "I dare you to let me run my fingers through your chest hair."

Amid numerous snickers, Varric motioned her closer with a grin on his face. She curled up beside him, made a show of snuggling against his shoulder, then as she gently stroked his furred chest with exaggerated movements, she turned her head toward Isabela and stuck out her tongue playfully.

"Oooh, Varric," she said in her best imitation of Isabela's purr, "your chest hair is so sexy and you're so dreamy, you big ol' hunk o' lust. I just can't contain myself. Every time I'm in your oh so man— uh. . . dwarfly presence, I fear I shall swoon, overcome by your sensual masculinity."

The room roared with laughter, even Varric and Isabela as Hawke fell back across the sofa in a dramatic faint with the back of her hand pressed to her forehead.

"It's always the chest hair," Varric said. "Draws them like moths to a flame." When everyone settled again, he asked her, "Truth or dare, Hawke?"

"What? I just did one. I'm safe for a while, right?" No one offered support for her objection. "Oh, bloody flames, this is about _that_ question, isn't it?"

"Yes," Isabela answered.

She smirked, eyes narrowing while considering, then turned to Varric with a sly smile and said, "Dare."

"All right, clever Hawke," Varric replied smugly, "I dare you to tell us about your threesome fantasy, including who and what. We want details."

Isabela applauded.

"Son of a nug-licking . . . ." Hawke crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. She stared at the floor until the laughter died down and didn't lift her eyes again as she said, "So . . . hello, my name is Seraphina Hawke, and I fantasize about threesomes that involve double penetration, bondage, being marked. You know, temporarily—love bites, whip lashes and that sort of thing or permanently—scarification, branding, tattoos."

When a heavy silence stretched, she babbled again to fill it.

"To clarify, it isn't about being hurt so much as feeling like I belong to—well, _with_ —someone." She cleared her throat, still refusing to meet anyone's gaze. "As you all may have noticed, my dog is the last remaining member of my Fereldan family. I-I do think of each of you as family, but this"—she searched for the correct word, gesturing with her hands slightly—"this _belonging_ I seek is different than that. So, yes, I fantasize about knowing deep down with unshakable certainty that I have someone in my life I can trust _with_ my life, to walk through the darkest pain with me and lead me into the light of pleasure and living again. I need to truly, utterly, without question believe in someone again. I need to cry, to release, to heal . . . in private, so I can be what everyone else needs me to be in public.

"I need to _not_ be the one making the decisions for just a little while. I fantasize about someone else being in control, so I can be free to just . . . breathe, to do more than tread water in a state of . . . ." She frowned as her voice dipped to a near-whisper when she concluded her confession. "I don't know. Numb existence? I want to feel alive again."

"Who does this for you in your fantasy, Hawke?" Isabela asked solemnly.

Hawke closed her eyes and murmured, "Please don't make me answer this."

In his quietest rumble now very near her ear, Fenris said, "I would like to know, too."

Her eyelashes lifted as she turned to find him kneeling beside her, his expression burning with curiosity and a glimmer of something else in his eyes she couldn't decipher.

Brow furrowed, she fought the urge to look away as she whispered, "You and Zevran." She looked down at her lap, but Fenris gently captured her chin and turned her to face him once more. Her eyes slipped down to his chest, but she resumed speaking and did not pull away. "It actually began as a recurring dream—a sleeping dream. I turned it into a fantasy for a while, and then I eventually let it go when the . . . nightmares about my mother began after her death. I didn't want to dream—awake or asleep—anymore. The dream returned after my acquaintance with Zev turned to friendship and he sometimes made appearances. It eventually turned back into a waking fantasy."

When Fenris relinquished his hold, her chin dropped again as she said, "I don't know that I can adequately explain the bond you and I have in the dream versus my bond with Zevran, but the gist is that while he's sometimes involved, it isn't about where our hearts lie. Zev knows I care for him; I know he cares for me. I trust him with both my pleasure and my pain.

"As for you, I don't know if I see you as you really are or only through the veil of a fantasy by now, but you . . . . You are always there whether I'm asleep or awake. There is no dream, no fantasy without you."

She cleared her throat once more and without looking at the dwarf on the other side of her, said, "Choose someone else, Varric, because I can't think of a question or a dare at the moment, and I would really like to move on from this topic." She stood up, her movements stiff in her exposed vulnerability, before continuing. "Keep playing if you like, help yourselves to refills on your drinks. Please excuse me. I need some air."

When Fenris moved to follow her, she turned back and offered him a brittle smile, to which he furrowed his brow in concern.

"I'm fine, Fenris," she said softly. "I didn't expect to ever share that with you and Zevran, much less in front of others. I'm . . . out of my comfort zone. Again."

"Sera, I—" he began, but even as she marveled at his first use of her nickname in a roomful of people, she shook her head.

"I need a few minutes. Please."

He nodded reluctantly. She offered him another small smile, then left the room.

#

"You honor me," her visitor said with a lilting accent that spoke of his native Antiva nearly a quarter of an hour later. Hawke glanced back at him as he stepped onto the outdoor balcony to join her, then turned her eyes to the night sky once more.

"I apologize if I embarrassed you by confessing so much in front of the others."

Zevran threw back his head and belted out his hearty amusement, tugging a shy smile across her lips as her cheeks flushed.

"Ah, I do not think embarrassment is the correct term for it. Intrigued? Yes. Aroused? Certainly."

She laughed softly, relishing the peculiar way he selected which syllables to emphasize and the gentle rolling of his R's as her shoulders visibly relaxed. She released a lengthy sigh as he leaned a hip against the carved stone balustrade, folded his arms across his chest and studied her silently. His quiet, watchful demeanor suddenly reminded her so much of Fenris in that moment that he nearly stole her breath away for that reason alone, and not because he was the charming, attractive flirt about which she'd indulged in sexual fantasies.

"I worry when I tell him how I feel," she admitted. "He asks me to elaborate on something that will reveal maybe too much, yet I do it anyway. I wonder if I shouldn't keep it to myself for fear of pushing him away permanently, losing even his friendship. Am I trying to pull him toward something he may not actually want? Am I truly so selfish? How dare I want more? A title, an estate . . . sniveling nobles pawing at me." She shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. "How could I possibly think he'd want to be with someone like me? Someone who probably reminds him of those uptight, self-righteous assholes who abused him, made him think he's not worthy of the air he breathes unless they say so when in reality, he's . . . so much more. If he could see himself through my eyes—"

She stopped abruptly and mumbled under her breath about having lost control of her tongue, wondering aloud if someone spiked her drink with a truth potion of some sort.

Zevran chortled, but sobered before speaking. "Your title is a reward given by the citizens of Kirkwall for protecting them. You worked to rebuild your family's fortune and reclaim this estate for your mother because your uncle gambled everything away while she was in Ferelden. Because she wanted you to marry a noble, perhaps even royalty, she's also the reason you suffer through formal gatherings so the powerful elite can fantasize about doing dirty things to you and your wealth while breathing all over you in person. You fought for and earned those things and your station for others." He shrugged. "You don't use your power against the less fortunate. You, in fact, had an opportunity to keep a slave secretly enslaved, but you set her free and offered her paid employment and a place to live instead. So, no, you are nothing like a Tevinter magister, my dear. And you have no intention of settling for one of those sweaty-palmed nobles or overstuffed politicians—and you know it."

They stared at one another while she absorbed his words before Zevran continued with a gesture toward the mansion behind them.

"You didn't have all of this when you first came to Kirkwall. Your family lived with your uncle in his cramped hovel in the old city slums, but despite your heartache over the losses of your brother and father, you were generally happy, weren't you? You need none of these things to be happy even now. So, tell me what—or _who_ —makes you happiest?"

Although she didn't speak, he acknowledged the answer shining in her eyes while smiling smugly in victory as his point was made.

"What if his life would be better now if I had moved on when he walked away?" she asked moments later, frowning. "What if I hadn't insisted on building a bridge beyond the awkwardness that followed our one night as lovers? Maker, don't let it be guilt or some sense of obligation or duty keeping him here. He is finally free . . . and free, he should be."

"Ah, dear Hawke, he's not someone you can push in a direction he does not wish to go now. He is perhaps still growing accustomed to this strange reality now that his former master is finally dead. Struggling to believe it, I'd imagine. A slave is not supposed to want, not supposed to dream, but he is winning his battle for identity. His eyes say he wants to believe he can be worthy of such devotion and is trying. Even his behavior, his posture tells of coming to terms with his new life. In just the relatively short time I've known him, I can see he has gained confidence, stands taller, speaks more often. I believe it is in large part because he knows he has the love and respect of a remarkable woman like you who doesn't see him as an ex-slave, weak and beaten and humbled, but as the person she wants to be with, strong and brave and loyal."

"I didn't say I lo—"

His laughter interrupted her. "Surely you know this to be so. I haven't been in Kirkwall long, but even I know that much about you. Are we truly meant to keep pretending otherwise, my dear? Your heart wants who it wants. It didn't stop wanting even when he needed time to himself. Here you are years later: still wanting, still hoping."

Hawke's gaze dropped to her feet.

"As much as I . . . ache for him—and Maker knows I do—as much as I long for that connection with him that we have in my dream, what I want most is to see him happy, fulfilled. Even . . . even if it means I have to let go." She bit her bottom lip briefly and shook her head. "He wears that Maker-forsaken favor around his wrist, keeping me hopeful yet torn when the sun rises on more of the same day after day with no end in sight. I remain trapped in this _abyss_ of waiting, not knowing what to do."

Her eyes lifted to his as he stepped closer.

"I know you have waited a long time, but I don't believe it will be much longer before you know which path to take. People like us—you, me, Fenris—are not long for this world. We relish danger and court death. Do not squander what time you have fretting over the correct course in an effort to spare him. When he asks for more, answer true.

"Earlier this evening, no matter how embarrassed you may have been to admit it in front of him and a roomful of people, you called him your heart. Let him be. Stop trying to hide how deeply you feel for him. What are you saving him from? Love? It is scary and exhilarating and a painful risk, but when he's ready, if it is by his side you wish to be, _take him by the hand and leap_."

She tilted her head slightly and regarded him intently as she said, "You sound very much like someone I met on my journey from Lothering to Kirkwall. She also told me to leap."

"Perhaps it is a sign to accept the wisdom of this woman and your most handsome friend Zevran, hmm?" He gathered a chuckling Hawke to him and squeezed her affectionately in a tight hug, then asked, "Tell me about her. Is she a stunning beauty? Agile and bendy in interesting ways?"

Hawke looked up into his face with a grin. "She is Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds."

"Ah, well, I'm no stranger to the charms of older women, although our last encounter did not go so well thanks to her daughter Morrigan. But dangerously is how I prefer to live, however short that may be! Bring on this Witch of the Wilds, and I will tame her! But not too much. No need to make her dull, after all."

#

He watched them from his place in shadows, just outside the reach of moonbeams moving at a snail's pace across the woven rug.

_If only_ you _could see yourself through_ my _eyes. You are everything the magisters are not. You are everything that's good, everything worth fighting for, everything I don't deserve . . . everything I want._


	8. Burning Bridges

Hawke stepped from the cooling bath water, grabbed a towel from the small table nearby and exited the washroom just as she held the cloth against her to begin drying off. She caught movement from the corner of her eye and stiffened, automatically bracing for an attack until she realized Fenris had simply lifted his head to watch her enter. From his seat at her desk against the far wall, his eyes trailed down curves barely concealed by the length of fabric as it hung down to her knees, suspended from the hand clutched against her breasts. When his gaze returned to her face, her reddened eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How long have you been in here?"

One corner of his mouth lifted, and his gaze shifted to that of a predator as he replied, "Not as long as I'd like."

Her heart threatened to burst from her rib cage. She cleared her throat as she glanced at the red fabric encircling his wrist and the crest still attached to his belt, then asked, "Do you want something, Fenris?"

"Yes, I do." He surprised her again when he said, "No need to be shy, Sera. I'm acquainted with all you're trying to hide."

"Yes, well, I've seen you naked also, but you don't parade around nude either. I'm fairly certain if you did, I'd have heard Isabela's shriek of delight during one of the many times she's ogled you through the keyhole in the door."

His predatory gaze gave way to anger and incredulity. "What?!"

They heard laughter just outside the bedroom a moment before the pirate herself pushed through the door to strike a pose with one hand on her hip and a content "cat who ate the canary" expression on her face.

To Fenris, Isabela said, "That's right, handsome." She strolled over as he stood up. Her gaze ate a path down his body, then licked its way back up slowly as she said, "I know whose name is on your lips when you spill your seed into your own hand."

He turned his head away, his glare digging into the wall as he asked Hawke, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I–I didn't know you weren't aware of it," she replied, brow furrowed in confusion. "She made it sound as if it's a game the two of you played before you recently became . . . ." She fell silent and stared unseeingly into the fireplace.

Wide-eyed, Fenris looked over at Hawke, finally understanding why she seemed upset when she emerged from her bath. Isabela trailed a finger down his cheek, smiled when he jerked away as expected, then turned back to the door.

When Hawke lifted her head to watch the pirate leave, Isabela glanced at her before saying, "I'll wait for you downstairs, sweet thing, but hurry. I found a delightful hat shop for our first destination."

Hawke swallowed around a lump in throat and said hoarsely, "I should have sent a messenger earlier, but our shopping plans slipped my mind. I have a more pressing engagement that must take precedence. If you'll both excuse me, I should dress."

Isabela's grin slipped from her face to be replaced by a frown as she, too, finally noticed the other woman's crumbling composure. "Hawke, I—"

Hawke held up a hand for silence, eyes shimmering with the threat of tears. "Too much. I can't." She backed away, clutching the towel to her like a shield as she passed the folding privacy screen. "Go. Please." When she found herself within the sanctuary of her washroom once more, she closed the door.

Fenris growled and advanced on the stunned woman left behind with him, gritting his teeth to keep from shouting as he snarled, " _What have you done?_ "

With a glare, she explained, "I intend to win the wager on how long it takes you two to stop dancing around each other, so a nudge here and there has been necessary."

His crushing grip bruised her arms in his barely-contained fury while his nose narrowly avoided smashing hers when he thrust his face up to hers. "This isn't a game. She isn't a child's toy you can play with for your amusement."

"She wasn't supposed to truly _believe_ me. Surely she knows she's the only—"

"When _hasn't_ she believed you? Even after your betrayal with the Qunari relic, she remained your friend, battled the Arishok in single combat rather than leave you to his mercy on a voyage to Par Vollen. She cares too much, and you've proven yourself anything but worthy." He shoved her away, his face riddled with disgust and spat, "Get out."

She did.

#

Several days after the confrontation, Fenris finally managed to corner Hawke long enough to convince her of Isabela's lie. She thanked him for telling her, but kept her shield of aloofness in place, burying the deep ache which resulted from the turmoil. When she saw him, infrequently now at best since he'd taken to accepting mercenary and armed escort work once more, he gazed at her with a mask concealing any depth of emotion she may have discerned and remained silent unless directly addressed. He'd returned to taking his meals in his chambers alone, a measure initially intended to give her space to work through her heartache, but which eventually became habit again instead. Days turned into weeks and by the time he recognized it as such, it seemed an insurmountable mountain too daunting to conquer without any encouragement from Hawke. He found himself wondering whether she wanted him to even try.

He often laid awake at night, listening to the fire's crackling as it ate through timber he chopped himself, longing to feel her beside him as his vision swam in a wine-befuddled haze. He sometimes found himself borrowing her fantasy in an effort to dull the aching need clawing inside his chest, jealousy boiling with desire in a toxic brew inside his stomach as he took his hardened cock in hand to find fleeting relief with images of the two of them or her with Zevran or him with Zevran or all three of them together flashing in his lust-drenched mind.

Did she miss him at all?

#

As the summer's heat gave way to leaves blanketing the ground and once-gentle breezes coalesced into forceful gusts, Hawke found herself seeking the company of her favorite Antivan more and more—perhaps because a new loneliness grew within her or perhaps because she knew he'd seen awful things, even done some as well, and would be less likely to judge even the ugliest things she'd had to do along the way, so she felt more comfortable sharing a side of herself normally reserved for Fenris alone. The assassin seemed content to accept her as is, imperfections and all. To everyone's surprise, Zevran remained in Kirkwall even after the Rivaini pirate queen's sudden disappearance, quieting Hawke's concern with his indulgent smiles and playful flirting and gentle reminders of Isabela's free spirit.

To cheer her, he talked at length about Antiva, shared anecdotes about his time traveling with Grey Wardens, one of whom even became the new King of Ferelden and was the very same man she'd met not so long ago herself, and told the story of each of his many tattoos. He even convinced her to let him give her one. She agonized over it for weeks, understanding its permanence and its significance as her first, and decided to approach it as a small part of her fantasy coming true. She spoke of it only when alone with Zevran for she didn't want others to overhear. He was delighted when she came to him at last and explained her chosen design. He nodded approvingly, eyes twinkling as he promised to sketch it for her approval and come to her mansion for their first inking session when she expected her home to be otherwise empty in a few days.

#

With his feet dragging and his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of sleeplessness carving itself into his bones following another trip escorting a merchant to another city several days distant, Fenris left the early evening behind as he closed the heavy door, expecting to hear Sandal playing with Maric or Bodahn tutting to himself as he went about his work. He peeked into the main room when greeted with only silence, noting the lack of fire in the hearth and immediately grew concerned.

He hauled his gear up the stairs and unpacked while contemplating possibly locating the rest of the household. From where he stood in his reading nook overlooking Hawke's landing, reshelving the book he'd taken on his journey, he heard a door open below. He slipped from sight, tamping down the excitement of seeing her even from afar as he waited. He did not expect Zevran to emerge from her bedroom, chuckling over his shoulder at something Hawke said in a voice too low for Fenris to hear, and he definitely didn't expect to find Hawke on Zevran's heels, tying the belt of her silk robe around her waist as she stepped into view. His eyes traveled from her bare feet up her naked legs, over the short garment to find it revealing her stomach down to her navel and the inner swells of her unbound breasts on display.

Pain sliced through him; his chest tightened until he fought for breath. Fenris was not aware when his vision narrowed until the pair below was all he could see. It simply went from normal to clouded with grief without conscious thought. His eyes remained glued to her face as she smiled up at the other elf when Zevran spoke.

"You did well for your first time. We'll do it again after you heal. Soon, yes?"

She nodded and closed her eyes momentarily when he stepped forward and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Rest and relax, my dear. I will let myself out."

Hawke watched Zevran jog down the stairs and disappear into the foyer, then waited until she heard the exterior door close behind him. The smile slipped from her face soon after as she stood seemingly lost in thought for several moments.

"I miss you. Come back," she murmured to the emptiness, then sighed and returned to her bedroom.

#

She caught him just as he reached the door a single heartbeat before his escape.

"You're back," Hawke stated simply.

Fenris turned and regarded her silently, willing himself to stop noticing how the early morning sunbeams slipping through the tall windows above made her raven hair shine or how he could see even at this distance that her deep blue eyes swirled with emotions he would not dare to name.

"I know you just returned to Kirkwall," she continued, "but I'm leaving for Sundermount today. Merrill's request. I hope to talk some sense into her about that mirror she's obsessed with, hopefully with the Keeper's help. I've enlisted Varric's assistance as he has a soft spot for her and perhaps she'll be more inclined to listen to him if not to me or Marethari, but I'd like to have another along. As Merrill says, there are things that prowl the heights that never sleep. Perhaps you'd like to come with us?"

His impassive face and blank eyes morphed with ferocious disgust, and his lip curled into a sneer when he said, "Send for your Antivan for this dog will not heed your commands any longer."

She stared in shock as he left without another word, the heavy door thundering in its frame as he slammed it behind him.

#

A week later, Aveline dropped two large packs on the foyer floor and helped a limping Hawke into the main room. Fenris looked up from his reading with a frown. He tossed his book on the nook floor and launched himself over one balustrade, then another to reach the ground floor quickly without taking either set of stairs.

"What happened?"

Ignoring his growled inquiry, Aveline said, "Let me send for Anders, Hawke. I know he's still in Kirkwall. He visits Varric from time to time, and his clinic in Darktown is still open."

"I appreciate the thought, Aveline, but I haven't changed my mind. I'm not against magical healing when necessary, but there are two types of mages I don't ever want casting spells at me. The other is blood mages. I barely tolerate Merrill's magic and the worst she's done is yell at me and kick me out of her home when I refused to give her the _arulin'holm_. I was trying to save Merrill's skinny butt, not betray her trust!" She huffed with aggravation. "And no, I don't want the many faces of Anders anywhere near me."

"I've received no formal complaints, nor have I heard of any more incidents recently."

"I don't care how long it's been since his last 'incident', Aveline! He loses more control to Justice or Vengeance—or whatever he calls that demon-spirit-thing now—each passing day. No. What the Keeper's First couldn't mend will heal on its own."

"You know that despite his . . . issues, Anders _is_ capable and could have you right as rain in moments instead of days, maybe even weeks given the state that leg of yours was in. You're a liability in combat until then."

Hawke stiffened and grumbled when Fenris scooped her up, one arm curling around the small of her back and the other slipping beneath her thighs. As he turned toward the staircase and ascended to the next floor, ignoring her protest, she looked over his shoulder to the Guard-Captain following behind them and said, "I am well aware of what I am."

When he set her on her bed, Fenris asked, "Zevran?"

Aveline frowned. "Stayed in Kirkwall, I think. I went with Hawke, Merrill and Varric. Why?"

He arched an eyebrow as he helped Hawke settle back against her pillows, then tucked the quilt around her.

"I'll send Orana up," he said gruffly, not looking at her directly, but catching her puzzled expression from the corner of his eye anyway.

When Aveline followed him from the room and down to the main floor, he slammed his fists down on Sandal's enchanting table, then shoved himself away from it, glowering at his surroundings.

"Zevran refused to go, of course." It was not a question.

Aveline crossed her arms and watched him pace for a few circuits, then said, "I don't know what's going on between you and Hawke and Zevran, but take it easy on her right now. She went through a lot on that mountaintop and lost another friend. No matter your own dislike of the Dalish, keep in mind that Hawke cared about and held great respect for Keeper Marethari."

"What happened?" he asked again.

Aveline sighed, stripped the heavy plate gauntlets from her hands and rubbed her tired eyes.

"Maker, what _didn't_ happen? Merrill couldn't get a response from that demon that helped her supposedly cleanse that tainted magical mirror. She wanted Hawke to go with her to find out why, which meant a trip to the peak of the mountain where the demon was bound long ago. She wanted Hawke with her in case . . . in case the demon possessed her and she needed to be struck down."

His eyebrows disappeared into his fringe.

"When we arrived," Aveline continued, "Marethari was there. She knew Merrill would turn to the demon for help with the Eluvian again, that getting Hawke to side with her and not give Merrill that tool she wanted from the clan wouldn't be enough to keep Merrill from working to repair it still, so she did the only thing she could to keep the demon from Merrill. She . . . merged with the demon herself."

Fenris openly gawked at her.

"She said it always intended to use Merrill to escape its prison, and the only way to slay the pride demon was to kill the vessel which held it now: Marethari. During the battle, it nearly convinced Merrill the demon was slain despite Marethari still standing. It was Hawke that reminded her that our duty wasn't finished until we killed the Keeper as well."

Aveline heaved another sigh. "And so we did, but not before it managed to crush Hawke's leg. There's really no other way to describe"—Aveline shuddered—"the crunching sound."

" _Venhedis!_ "

Aveline ignored his curse and said, "Keeper Marethari's First allowed us to camp a short distance away and worked on Hawke's leg to make it somewhat usable over the next couple of days. It's why our return to the city took so long."

He paced again, clenching his fists and muttering. "What did she expect? Choosing _him_. She should have asked someone she can rely on, someone who'd put her well-being before his own."

"She _did_ ," Aveline replied pointedly. "He told her to ask someone else."

"I want to crush that bastard's heart," he growled, staring into the distance as his lyrium tattoos exploded into full illumination.

Aveline stared at him in disbelief before shaking her head sadly. "You miserable fool," she sighed. She turned on her heel and stalked away, grabbing up one of the packs as she left.


	9. Treasure Hunt

From his reading nook, Fenris watched Aveline depart with the mabari on her heels, returning to the barracks to give the guards another session working with a war hound. Still, he didn't move until Orana disappeared into the deepest recesses of the mansion and the dwarves left for the market district. Determined to stop being a miserable fool, he found the one he sought in the kitchen, standing near a counter strewn with fruit peelings. He glanced up at the hair pinned atop her head, a few locks escaping to frame her face and brush against her neck—her bare, unmarked neck. His eyes swept over the threadbare tunic he knew to be an old favorite that concealed her shape from shoulders to mid-thigh, where he noticed thin leggings encasing shapely legs down to mid-calf. She still favored her newly-scarred limb after standing in place for too long, but she'd been moving about the mansion with barely a limp for a few days now. To his amusement, his continued scrutiny found her feet bare, a habit he preferred to believe developed from his influence.

Humming off-key, she remained oblivious to his approach as she used a large spoon to stir the contents of a wide bowl, then paused and lifted the coated utensil. She trailed a long drip of the concoction along her finger and brought it to her mouth. He watched the tip of her tongue trace over the stripe of batter with his cock twitching in response, and he suddenly recalled the night of the party when he discovered Isabela thoroughly enjoying Zevran. His thoughts focused on Zevran, the handsome elf's face growing in his field of vision as he moved closer to collect a kiss, the taste of him, the pleasant sensation of the other's tongue against his . . . that same face as he smiled down at Hawke while she tied the belt of a robe barely concealing her curves.

In that moment, his thoughts shifted. A new kind of lust awoke, a distinct need, one that made him growl low in his throat, startling Hawke. She pivoted on one heel, bracing herself against the counter with her free hand. To his chagrin, she didn't relax when she discovered her visitor's identity. If anything, her tension coiled more tightly while he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the smudge of ground cinnamon marring her cheek. Her eyes watched him warily as he moved closer—a stalking wolf with need written in his eyes as the hunger rose inside him. His nostrils flared when he inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of peeled apples, spices and _her_ , a combination of favorites he found both exhilarating and oddly calming, a scent he recognized as home.

Wordlessly, she held out the spoon, offering him a taste. The next moment found her backside shoved against the counter as his chest pressed into hers. Green eyes swept across her face as his warm breath tickled her cheeks. When his gaze lingered on her lips, she inhaled sharply, parting them slightly. Taking it for an invitation, his mouth lowered to hers as his arms encircled her waist, trapping her. The tip of his tongue flicked over her lips, tasting the sweetness staining them before delving deeper to slide against hers. The spoon clattered onto the waiting muffin pan before her arms wound around his neck as she dove into the kiss.

_Consequences be damned._

Her enthusiastic reaction stoked the fire building inside him, and he pressed himself against her more firmly as her fingers surged up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. On and on the bruising kiss went, tongues exploring and teeth nipping, his low, rumbling growls answering her soft whimpers. His hands slipped down to her hips to bunch her tunic until he located the hem and tugged it upward, exposing her silken skin to his searching fingers. They glided up her back beneath her top, and when he discovered he wasn't impeded by a bandeau wrapped around her ribs, he groaned and broke away from her lips, leaving them both panting, to trail kisses over her jaw and down her neck. When he reached the spot that had once worn his mark, his teeth sank into her flesh determinedly. A moment's pain as she gasped near his ear, then his lips and tongue were taking the sting away.

He surveyed the damage, then pressed a light kiss against the tender, darkened skin before his lips returned to hers. His fingertips circled around her waist and up her stomach at a teasing pace that had her straining toward his hands long before his palms cupped her breasts. His thumbs swept over her nipples, pushing at the hardened buds insistently, rolling them between his fingers, plucking them gently.

When she pressed her pelvis against the cock straining for freedom within the confines of his pants, he abruptly withdrew his hands from beneath her top, broke their kiss and lifted his head once more. Dazed and speechless, she watched his face as his fingers curled around opposite sides of her tunic's neckline, then ripped it until it hung open to her navel. She bit her bottom lip and watched with widened eyes when he took up the spoon, then used it to drizzle batter over the peak of one breast, making her gasp and brace herself on the counter behind her as the cool confection began to slip down her heated flesh.

His sizzling gaze captured hers for a moment just before he dipped his head and lapped at the stickiness with the tip of his tongue. She shivered when he flattened it next to swirl it over her, then sucked her nipple into the waiting warmth of his mouth with slow determination. When she began to squirm, his arms tightened around her. He released her breast, tickling her nipple playfully with the tip of his tongue again, then tucked it snugly between his teeth and tugged gently.

"Bloody flames," she panted, eyes squeezed shut as she trembled against him.

Smiling, he released her nipple and returned to lapping up the spattered concoction. When her skin was cleaned of all traces of the confection and glistening from his attention, he turned his mouth to her other breast. As she arched against him, her knee nudged his crotch, evoking a shudder from him. Encouraged by his response, she pressed her thigh between both of his insistently. He released her breast once more and kissed a return path up her chest, then her neck and over her chin until his lips found hers. Just as his tongue swept inside her mouth to tease hers, the front door slammed. They both stilled, breathing and all, at the same moment.

"Yes, take those supplies into the kitchen, my boy. I'll be along momentarily," Bodahn called from the other room toward the shuffling step they could now distinguish on the other side of the kitchen entrance.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, stared at the love bite on her neck and muttered, " _Venhedis!_ "

She stared at him wide-eyed, the haze of lust lifting to leave shock in its wake until she burst into action, wiggling out of his grasp as she gathered the tattered remains of her top into a semblance of cover and dashed from the kitchen, using the back stairs to avoid the returning servants.

#

Hawke eluded him for two full days, but he didn't allow it to dissuade him from cornering her again. They needed to have an overdue discussion of more than one kind. He entered the estate that evening determined, prepared to dance with his Sera one way or another. He hit the stairs leading to the second floor before he noticed something out of place. He stopped and listened, surveying the area carefully, then realized the door to her mother's room stood slightly ajar. In the years since Leandra's murder, Hawke kept it exactly as her mother had left it, allowing Orana to clean it only a few times a year when cobwebs and dust cloaked the room, overwhelming what little of Leandra's memory remained imprinted in her private space. A foreboding feeling crept over him, and he took the remaining stairs two at a time. He peeked around the door frame, his body hunched defensively against the wall, senses alert in case he discovered intruders.

Several crates nailed shut and labeled for storage or donation sat stacked around the room. A collection of letters and other mementos were strewn across the double bed, in the middle of which lay a sleeping Hawke with a damp handkerchief balled in a relaxed fist. She hugged two toys to her chest, one a tattered, stuffed bear with the name Bethany embroidered on her threadbare dress, the other also an old, often-mended bear but with the name Carver on his mud-stained shirt.

Upon closer inspection, Fenris noticed she wore the shirt he'd chosen from his own small wardrobe and left on her bed for her to find, one meant to replace that which he'd torn. He spotted a pair of blankets folded at the foot of the bed, chose the least dusty one from the bottom and covered her slumbering form. He gazed down at her for some time, watching her in a sleep he hoped was more peaceful than her slightly furrowed brow indicated. He reached down to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, trailed the pad of his thumb over Hawke's tear-stained cheek, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

#

A few days later, he returned earlier than expected from a mercenary job hoping to catch her at home one early afternoon—and he did. He stopped at the top of the stairs and stared into her bedroom, the door of which stood partly open, and struggled to deny the scene before him. Hawke, in his shirt again but with the bottom hem bunched and knotted beneath her breasts to expose her stomach and her pants pulled down to bare one hip, lounged on her bed on her side, looking up at Zevran. He sat with one hand braced behind her as he leaned over her, rubbing her hip as he spoke in a low purr.

Frozen in place, his mind grasped at thoughts slowly, almost reluctantly. Did he misunderstand her response in the kitchen? Did he make her wait too long? Didn't she want him anymore? Had he really lost his Sera to an arrogant, narcissistic assassin with a beguiling tongue and talented lips?

#

"Have you seen Fenris?" Hawke asked Varric. "I thought he meant to return from his last job about three days ago, but he hasn't come home."

Varric shook his head. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon, Hawke."

#

"Aveline, have you seen Fenris? He was supposed to be home four days ago."

"I haven't seen him, Hawke, but I'll let you know if I do."

"Will you ask Donnic to let me know if he hears from him, too?"

The Guard-Captain nodded, then let her smiling mask of reassurance fall into a frown as she watched her oldest friend's retreating back turn the corner.

#

"Have you seen Fenris recently, Sebastian?"

"No, I haven't, Hawke," he said quietly as he sat beside her in a pew inside the Chantry.

With a heavy sigh, she dropped her chin and stared at her clasped hands in her lap. She spent a few quiet moments soaking in the soothing aura of the priest beside her, then thanked him and stood up. She moved to the collection of prayer candles and set another alight.

#

"Zev?"

"Mmph, 'es?" he said around a mouthful of roast chicken.

"Have you seen Fenris lately?"

Zevran shook his head and watched Hawke's concern morph into disappointment colored with fear. He swallowed quickly, washed it down with a swig of water and asked, "What is it, my dear?"

"He was supposed to return from his last job outside the city nearly a week ago. No one I've asked has seen or heard from him."

Furrowing his brow, he looked out over the chilly, gray waves while the leather thong keeping his shoulder-length hair tied back from his face threatened to release it to the cold wind beating against the picnickers' backs.

"Have you checked the old mansion he used to live in?"

She nodded slowly. "He's not staying at the Hanged Man or the Blooming Rose or any other places with a room for rent inside this city. Bodahn, Sandal and Orana only know as much as I do. Varric, Aveline, Donnic, Sebastian . . . . I even asked Merrill and Anders, but no one knows anything more."

"Have you looked over his belongings? Any missing?"

"Most of his things are still at home as far as I can tell, but I don't think that really means much since he spent years traveling with only the armor on his back, his sword and a few belt pouches to carry his belongings in."

Zevran sucked his teeth as he contemplated the missing elf. Hawke picked at her lunch reluctantly as her chest tightened and her stomach twisted anxiously.

#

"Varric, tell me you know where Zevran is at least," a frantic Hawke demanded as she stomped into his rented suite at the Hanged Man, her heavy cloak billowing behind her. "First Fenris disappears and now Zevran!"

Varric lifted his hands in a gesture meant to forestall her meltdown. "Calm down, Hawke. I set my contacts on Broody's trail. Zevran volunteered to investigate a lead."

She slumped down into a vacant chair beside him, heartache in her eyes despite her glare. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He patted the back of her hand and offered to buy her a drink.

#

Several days later found Hawke holed up in her mansion, pacing and waiting, unable to deny her grief and worry. She even stopped answering summons and letters requesting assistance with this personal problem or that political issue. When her front door suddenly burst open and a blast of chilly air swept in, she looked up, expecting to see Bodahn, instead finding a tired elf with a strained smile stepping inside. She felt her breath whoosh out of her lungs and immediately plunked herself into the nearest chair, staring with wide eyes as he approached and knelt in front of her.

"I found him. He's fine."

Relief washed through her, and she felt her heart lurch into motion again. She threw herself against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you, Zev. Thank you so much."

He laid his cheek against the top of her head while reciprocating her hug.

"Where is he? Did he come back with you?" she asked when she pulled back to gaze at him earnestly.

"He is here in Kirkwall now, finishing up an escort contract and will return later today, probably this evening."

"What happened? Why has he been gone so long?"

Grimacing, he said, "I am sorry to say I had to spoil the surprise of your tattoo." She questioned him for further details with just her eyes, so he continued. "He misunderstood the implications of you baring skin in my presence."

Her bewildered expression earned a chuckle from Zevran.

"Much like my reaction, my dear, until I realized he must have seen me either during our tattoo sessions or as I was leaving. He mentioned his confusion when the second occurrence followed 'that day in the kitchen' but wouldn't elaborate no matter how I tried to entice him. He is a stubborn one, our warrior. Perhaps you'll share the delicious details with me, yes?"

"He thought I— that we were . . . ." She trailed off sadly; her shoulders slumped. "I haven't been with anyone but him since I arrived in Kirkwall."

Zevran regarded her with an intent expression as he calculated the timespan, then said, "You are certainly faithful, dear Hawke."

Her eyes dropped to the floor. "He knows now you were giving me a tattoo?"

"Only that I gave you one. When he asked what it was, I said he must ask you himself for the choice of art and the reasons behind it were not mine to share."

A pounding on the front door halted further discussion. When Hawke peeked outside, she found Knight-Captain Cullen on her doorstep.

"Mistress Hawke, Knight-Commander Meredith has sent multiple requests for your immediate assistance with a possible conspiracy. As a last resort, she sent me to personally request your prompt attention to this matter. Please."

#

_Some elf from Tevinter_ , Keran had said. _Took out four men before they subdued him._

_They_ would not live long. Even the thought of Keran, the templar she'd rescued from blood mages sacrificing recruits to become demonic abominations all in the hopes of wreaking havoc within the ranks to bring about the Order's downfall and free mages from Chantry oversight, made her blood boil. Even now, she wasn't sure she should have kept her anger and fear in check, sparing him when she learned of his participation in the conspiracy—a conspiracy which led to Fenris being taken hostage to force the Champion into siding with the radical group against the Knight-Commander.

It'd been a long night since she discovered rebel mages and rogue templars conspiring in dark corners of Hightown, followed by a trip to a warehouse at the docks to search for more evidence in the wee hours of the morning, only to find herself traipsing down the Wounded Coast just before sunrise to confront the instigators themselves. As the distant morning sun burned through the late autumn fog shrouding the crisp air, she squared her shoulders and prepared her next assault. She rushed a small group of mages, bowling them over and giving herself time to slash their throats one by one before they could restart their spell preparations. Hawke didn't realize she was growling softly until she felt Aveline's back against hers as she paused to survey for more incoming threats, and the warrior reassured her they'd get Fenris back. As one, they turned toward a pride abomination known just moments before as a mage named Grace and regrouped with Zevran and Sebastian to take it down.

#

With relief suffusing her entire being, Hawke barely dared to breathe as she watched the mage Alain break the stasis spell before Sebastian stepped forward to help a reawakened Fenris gain his feet. Green eyes immediately searched for and found her and did not stray again as the elf stepped forward.

"I should not have let them take me. I let you down. Apparently I'm not as invulnerable as I thought."

Hawke shook her head and said, "You didn't _let_ them take you. You took out four of them. I'm proud of you, Fenris. If they hadn't managed to take you by surprise, I don't think they'd have been able to take you at all." Mischief glinted in her eyes. "But I am relieved to hear you acknowledge you are not, in fact, invincible. Perhaps I can spare some breath not having to nag you about being more careful now." Winking at him earned her a small, lopsided smile.

"Thank you. It is . . . comforting to know that I have you at my back."

"Always," she vowed softly.

To her stunned delight, he gently cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. Moments later, he turned and walked slowly away, crossing paths with Knight-Captain Cullen as he went. She watched the elf turn toward Kirkwall until the templar blocked her view when he stopped in front of her, awaiting her report.

#

Instead of Fenris, she found a laboriously handwritten note sprinkled with crossed-out words and misspellings and an accompanying map on her correspondence desk when she returned to her estate.

> _Seraphina,_
> 
> _Please meet me at the ~~lok~~ lockation marked on the map. I have packed for you ~~alredy~~ all ready and ~~tacken~~ taken care of the ~~ness~~ nesesary arangments. All you need to bring with you is your smile. Zevran will make sure you arrive safely, but will keep out of ~~sigt~~ sight unless you need him. _
> 
> _Fenris_
> 
> _P.S. Sleep first if needed._

"You know what this is about?" she asked the blond elf as he read the missive over her shoulder.

Zevran grinned mischievously . . . and silently. Giddy as a young girl with her first crush, a burst of renewed energy rode through her limbs on a carriage of adrenaline. She rushed through a bath to wash away the stench of battle, then embarked on her quest to find Fenris. Sleep could wait.


	10. Lyrium Wolves

Clutching her cloak about her as the wind tried to rip it from her grasp, she followed the last marked bend in the faint trail around a stand of evergreens and stopped in front of an old hunter's lodge. She felt Zevran slip up next to her.

"How did he know this was here?" she wondered aloud.

"I discovered it on my way to Kirkwall when I was keeping a low profile while the Crows were trailing me. I told him about it, suggested it could be . . . useful, yes?"

She laughed when he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, then turned back to the little building when she heard the door creak open. An unarmored and seemingly unarmed Fenris peered out with an open book in hand.

"Thank you, Zev, for everything."

He inclined his head in a small formal bow, then said, "Leap, dear Hawke, and be happy." With a wave to them both, he returned to the shadows to disappear into the foothills of Sundermount.

#

He tucked his book away, then waited only long enough for her to enter the cabin and remove her cloak before he said, "We should talk."

Hawke nodded as she draped her cloak across the low back of a worn sofa and folded her arms, waiting for him to begin.

"We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago."

Butterflies burst to life inside of her stomach when she realized this conversation was not the one she'd expected.

"You didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't want to drive you away by insisting."

"I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me—I deserved no less. But you didn't. You still asked me to accompany you, included me among your friends, still gave me reading and writing lessons. I could see how much I hurt you, but you still showed me kindness, still smiled at me.

"The pain, the memories that night brought up . . . . It was too much. And I was a coward." He paused to study her face before adding, "I had no right to hope you wouldn't move on, but I could not. That night . . . ." He shook his head slightly. "I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. I have not . . . been with anyone else."

"That makes two of us, Fenris," she said quietly.

"Zevran explained things were not as I assumed." His gaze fell to the floor. "I left because I could not stay—in your home, surrounded by your things, everything that is _you_ —and watch you with him. I apologize."

"Well, truthfully, I did fear you would go to Isabela. If you did, I'd know what happened between us didn't mean to you what it did to me. It would've been a sign for me to move on. But the Amell crest you keep on your belt and that damn favor . . . ." She glanced down at the faded red fabric still tied around his wrist and sighed. "I sometimes tell myself it's just habit now, and other times I tell myself it has to mean something or else you wouldn't bother to put it on day after day. Keeping that around your wrist makes it impossible for me to let go. "

When she growled in frustration, he stepped closer and cupped her cheek briefly as he said, "I know I should have asked your forgiveness long ago, but I hope you can forgive me now. If I could go back, I'd stay and tell you how I felt."

Her pulse pounded, blood rushing, making her dizzy. In a voice that sounded distant to her own ears, she asked, "What would you have said?"

"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you." His intent gaze engulfed hers as he edged closer. "If there is a future to be had, Seraphina Hawke, I will walk into it gladly at your side."

She gripped the front of his tunic and tugged. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips, lingering and filled with promise. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent.

"May I ask about this mysterious tattoo?"

She smiled and stepped back, thankful for the fire in the hearth as she removed her weapons and armor, then drew her top over her head and tossed it on the sofa near her cloak. His eyes settled on the ink peeking above her waist band, and he watched closely as she pushed her leggings down one hip to bare the rest of the piece. He knelt in front of her and traced the silvery white wolf surrounded by a faint bluish glow with his fingertips. He stared at the proud animal's fierce green eyes, a shade that nearly matched his own, for a long time as she combed her fingers through his hair.

"I wanted to surprise you," she explained quietly, "so I tried to plan the inking sessions for when I thought you'd be away from the estate at least a few hours at a time. I never meant for you to interpret our clandestine meetings in such a way." Her hand slipped from the top of his head down to his chin where she pressed her fingertip to the underside lightly until his gaze met hers. "Yours, always."

He straightened from his crouch and kissed her again while cradling her face in his hands. When he pulled back to look at her, he gently smoothed the pads of his thumbs over the darkened circles beneath her eyes.

"You have not slept."

She shrugged and said, "The treasure hunt was more important."

The corner of his mouth curved into a little smile, then he took her by the hand and led her to the other side of the cabin where she found the space dominated by a massive bed, the mattress of which was covered with clean sheets she recognized from home. With the only window back at the front of the cabin, sunlight didn't penetrate this section of their cozy shelter, but the double-sided fireplace separating the sleeping and seating areas filled it with a glowing warmth to keep the chilly autumn afternoon at bay.

She sighed longingly and said, "Perfect."

He knelt before her once more, this time to remove her boots and help her slide out of her pants, leaving her in only underclothes. He pressed a kiss to her decorated hip, then stood and allowed her to wordlessly help him slip out of his shirt. Her palms slid up his chest and over his shoulders to lace her fingers behind him and pull him against her. Her breath tickled his neck after he tucked her head beneath his chin.

"I missed you so much," she whispered against his skin.

His embrace tightened in response, but she didn't protest his crushing bear hug. A welcome eternity passed while they stood locked in one another's arms, relishing the act of simply being in the same space, basking in the other's energy. Eventually, she curled up on the lumpy mattress and snuggled against his chest with a content sigh as he tucked the layered quilts around them both. His heart beat strongly against her ear as his hand stroked over her back in a lazy rhythm.

"Sleep well, Sera," he said, the rumble in his chest vibrating against her cheek, "for you will require as much energy as possible soon."

He couldn't suppress his smile when she laughed and nuzzled him affectionately.

"My dreams shall be sweet indeed," she replied.

#

She inhaled slowly and found herself immersed in his warm presence as his comforting scent and the sound of his steady breathing enveloped her, shielding her from all else but his nearness. She opened her eyes reluctantly but smiled when she found him on his side, facing her. In the dim light from the low fire on the hearth behind her, she studied him, tracing the sculpted lines of his features with her eyes. His tousled white fringe nearly concealed the black eyelashes lowered against his cheeks; she carefully eased it back from his face. Despite her efforts to not disturb him, she heard his breathing change. When she looked back at his eyes, she found them open and focused on her. Her fingertips trailed over his temple, cheek and then his jaw.

"You're real," she whispered, sounding slightly awed. "You're here."

Rather than speaking, he gathered her close once more. She lightly stroked her fingertips over his heart as she listened to its beat reverberating inside his chest again.

"Where is Maric?" she quietly asked several minutes later.

"Donnic."

"Orana, Bodahn and Sandal?"

"Paid holiday."

She hummed her approval. "And how long am I to remain hostage, so-to-speak?"

He snorted and asked, "Grown weary of me already, have you?"

"No!" She wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed. "But I can't imagine the Knight-Commander will appreciate her puppet champion being unavailable without notice. Likewise for our Guard-Captain. She's not as relentless as Meredith, but she keeps her own to-do list with my name on it."

"Precisely why I didn't go to Aveline with my plan. Donnic knows enough to keep her from worrying too much, but only Zevran knows our exact location. This was his idea, after all."

"My two most favorite gentlemen conspiring for my benefit? Careful now, for one could get used to being so doted upon very quickly."

She gasped when he suddenly rolled them over. "Let us be sure you do," he growled softly just before lowering his lips to hers.

She melted against him, opening herself to his affection as his teeth nipped her lower lip, then his tongue swept over it soothingly. While she drew him in deeper, her tongue writhing against his, her palms moved over the bunched muscles in his back and shoulders; he responded by pressing his hips against hers. She moaned when his hardening cock moved against her mound through the two layers of fabric separating them. Shuddering upon hearing the sound, he ripped his lips from hers, yanked her bandeau up and fitted his mouth on to a peak. Her pelvis jerked upward against his straining member as he used his teeth, tongue and lips on her.

When he had her squirming beneath him to his satisfaction, he shifted his weight to one knee while leaning over her, locked his arm around her waist and lifted her hips from the bed, then used his free hand to untie the leather laces on each side and let her smalls tumble away. Using the calloused pad of his middle finger, he stroked over her dampened slit; her breath hitched. When his finger slipped into her wet heat, his groan spilled against her breast. Her own fingers tangled in his hair as he teased her with his, fucking her shallowly with one tip, then circling her sensitive clitoris once, twice, a third time before stroking inside her channel a few times more, moving a little deeper with each plunge. He alternated between her swollen bud and her sopping cunt, adding a second finger and then a third, until wet squelching noises accompanied each thrust; she moaned his name in a breathless litany of want. He lowered her hips back to the bed, fingers still thrusting into her silken passage as he leaned down to draw her into another kiss.

When his lips momentarily left hers, he said, "I intended for our first time after reuniting to be slow, but—"

She growled and reached for his trousers, shoving them over his hips and down his thighs as she panted between kisses, "Slow next time. Been too long. Fuck me now."

When his cock sprang from the confines of his pants as they bunched around his knees, she didn't wait for him to kick them off and instead yanked his drenched hand away from her cunt, pulled him down on top of her and locked her legs around his waist. His tongue tangled with hers as the tip of his cock slid down over her throbbing clitoris to the entrance of her passage. She whimpered urgently and tilted her hips; his blunted girth pressed against her for one delicious moment before he slid his entire length into her tight channel. When his cock was fully buried inside her, he pulled his lips from hers and looked into her eyes.

"Even better than I remembered," he rumbled breathlessly, shuddering again as his hips pressed hers down into the mattress, his cock twitching inside her as he took a moment to savor the sensation, "and I thought I had every detail of you memorized."

Her inner muscles clutched at him, encouraging his intimate intrusion as she whispered, "Please, Fenris," while rolling her hips beneath his in her search for friction.

Pure male satisfaction painted a lustful smile on his face when her lips wrapped around one of his fingers glistening with her cream. The first movement of his hips against hers earned him a grateful groan as her eyes closed, and she swirled her velvety tongue over his finger. After the second and third wet finger were likewise cleaned, she pulled him down for another kiss, letting him draw the taste of her lubricating juices from her mouth. As if injected with an aphrodisiac, his pelvic thrusts became deeper and faster, frantic, leaving them both fighting for breath.

Relentlessly, he pounded into her writhing body while more than three years of denial crumbled and ever-growing affection and memories that spanned even longer crashed down to blanket them in sweaty pleasure as they clung to one another in the dizzying, chaotic heights of their bond. Combined scents of perspiration and desire permeated the room, battling with the sound of damp flesh slapping together as he slammed against the aching bundle of nerves at her core in a breathtaking rhythm that forced her to break the lip lock and left her gasping for air as she arched against him encouragingly.

The merciless pace drove them both toward the edge swiftly. He soon watched her flushed face in the bluish glow from his lyrium tattoos as ecstasy claimed her, and when his own release began to overwhelm him, he pinned her wrists to the bed and buried his teeth in his favored place on her neck with a vicious growl. He left his visible mark as she cried out his name, her cunt squeezing his cock in an iron grip.

When they lay shuddering against one another with his markings growing dim once more, their heated bodies beginning to cool and their breathing easing, he soothed her wound with his tongue and lifted his head from her neck. He released her wrists and leaned up on his elbows, then brushed her hair back from her face.

"I am yours," he vowed before kissing her tenderly.

#

She tilted her head from one side to the other to test the tenderness of the mark on her neck as she leaned against the headboard with a quilt tucked beneath her arms, covering her down to her toes. She stopped to appreciate the view when a naked Fenris carried in his pack from the other room, took a seat on the bed beside her and extracted supplies for a meal.

"Breakfast in bed? What have I possibly done to deserve all this, serah?" she asked playfully.

He met her gaze and solemnly said, "When I spoke with Bodahn, he said you've barely slept or eaten." He returned to gathering food. "I take care of my Sera."

Warmth exploded from her heart, oozing into the farthest reaches of her body until she was swathed in a cozy, protective blanket of his affection.

#

They wiled away the night exploring each other with eyes and hands and mouths, then dozing for a short time before stirring once more for sleepy nuzzles to turn into determined caresses that stoked warmth into searing heat and changed soft murmurs into impassioned cries of release. Only when the sun lifted itself fully above the horizon, with muscles aching and skin too tender to continue, did they allow themselves to fall into a more restful slumber, sharing a pillow while locked in one another's arms.

Fenris felt he'd barely closed his eyes when he was brought back to awareness by a light knock at the front door. He glanced at Hawke as she lay sprawled on her stomach with her face turned away to the cold hearth. His breath clouded before his face as he pulled on the light pants he usually slept in and padded barefoot into the other room, ignoring the chilliness seeping into his feet to settle into his bones. He peeked through a small window and found Zevran on the porch, pouring a stream of water from a canteen into a shallow bowl. The blond elf glanced up when Fenris opened the door to the overcast afternoon and a lazy smile plucked at the corners of his mouth. He set the bowl near the door, then stepped inside, his back laden with heavy burden.

"Ah, tending our own fires rather than keeping a blaze on the hearth, I see," he said by way of greeting with a twinkle in his eyes.

Fenris grunted and turned to the fireplace, leaving Zevran to close the door.

"So tell me, my friend, do you still desire this?"

Kneeling to arrange the kindling before setting it alight, Fenris said, "It is what she wants."

"And you?" Zevran prompted.

Without meeting the other man's gaze, Fenris said, "Perhaps."

Zevran regarded him with an uncharacteristic sober expression, then relieved himself of his rucksack. "Hawke's friend Arianni sent supplies when she learned of my intention to leave the Dalish encampment after only one night to return to Hawke today," he said in his lilting accent as he unpacked the offerings. "She wished to express her appreciation for Hawke's assistance once more. She regaled me with two stories: the first about saving her apostate son from slavers, the other about freeing him from a trap in the Fade. Such interesting tales I hear about our lovely Champion."

Fenris stood as close to the fire as he could with his arms crossed over his chest while he watched Zevran pull item after item from his pack, then raised an eyebrow when the blond elf moved from food to small clamps, candles, silk scarves, varying lengths of rope, and several spanking instruments.

"To clarify, my friend, I will lead during our more 'delicate' activities, but only until you feel sufficiently prepared in doing so yourself, yes?"

Fenris nodded, swallowing audibly.

Zevran removed his heavy cloak and placed it atop Hawke's on the sofa, then did the same with his leather armor and daggers. He approached Fenris with the cautiously measured steps one might use when advancing on a wary wolf. His golden brown eyes gazed into olive depths for several heartbeats.

"Permission rests with you. Speak and it will be done, even if you want me to leave. I am here to fulfill a fantasy for a woman I—and I do not say this lightly—have come to care about, but it is not my wish to cause harm or provoke jealousy. I know where her heart lies, and as she herself has said, that is not what she seeks with me."

Fenris nodded once more, then gestured toward the bedroom on the other side of the hearth in silent invitation. They found Hawke still sprawled on her stomach with the quilt bunched around her hips and one half of her face buried in a pillow. Zevran knelt beside the bed and brushed black tresses away from her visible eye, then skimmed his palm lightly over her shoulder and down her bare back to warm her chilled skin. She inhaled deeply, stirring from her slumber and arched into his touch. She blinked slowly and eventually focused her vision on his warm smile. She stared at him with her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Zev?" she murmured.

"Good afternoon, my beautiful Champion," he replied, his smile widening to a grin.

"Not that I mind being called beautiful," she grumbled, "but can't you find a less formal way to address me?"

"Ah, what I would prefer to do is _un_ dress you, but I see our favorite warrior has already taken care of that."

She blinked at him mutely for a moment, then asked, "Where's Fenris?"

"He's still here."

"Do you think it wise to flirt like that in his presence? Are you not concerned about your own well-being?"

Zevran chuckled and stroked his thumb over her cheek as he said, " _My_ presence and all that entails is his request, my dear."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically to which Fenris responded by stepping into her line of sight and said, "It is."

"You may have your fantasy if you wish," Zevran added.

She covered her breasts with one arm as she rolled onto her back to eye both elves suspiciously, then settled her gaze on Fenris.

"But you . . . . I thought . . . . Um, am I actually awake right now?" She shrugged sheepishly when they both chuckled at her.

Fenris moved around the bed and climbed onto it before he explained, "You have held this fantasy for a long time. I also took your response to Zevran kissing me to mean I may possibly . . . indulge my attraction without jeopardizing us. I shall do my best to curb my own jealousy so we may both fulfill our fantasies—together."

Hawke studied him intently for a long while before her dark blue eyes moved to Zevran's golden gaze.

"Are you certain, Zev?"

"Whether our escapades continue beyond this cabin or stay confined to a single occurrence within these walls is up to the two of you. I am open to either possibility."

Hawke chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'd like to soak away my aches in a hot bath first."

Zevran chuckled once more as Fenris pressed a light kiss to her lips.

"Ah, yes," the Antivan said while brushing his fingertip over the deep purple bite mark on her neck, eliciting a shiver from Hawke. "I see our warrior wolf has claimed you quite fiercely already."

With a voice made husky from rising desire, a smirking Hawke replied, "That's nothing compared to other parts of me. At least I don't have to sit on my neck."


	11. An Arrangement

Fenris finished stoking the fire into a roaring blaze and turned to find Zevran watching through half-lidded eyes as Hawke sank into the copper tub of bubbly, steaming water and sighed with pleasure as the small sip of a healing potion she'd taken moments before worked its magic. He quickly leashed the snarling beast that rose within him and set his jaw determinedly, reminding himself of who bolstered Hawke's hope he would eventually return to her. He would endure this for her knowing Zevran wasn't here to replace him, only to help make her fantasy come true. He recognized his jealousy as a protectiveness not directed specifically at Zevran, but at anyone who approached her in such a way—with carnal interest. His eyes dropped to Zevran's lap to find trousers growing noticeably taut as Hawke drenched her shoulders and breasts, water and bubbles sluicing over skin made rosy from the bath's temperature. He felt his own member stiffening and shoved rampaging thoughts of hard cocks and welcoming cunts from his mind.

"Tomorrow," he announced, drawing blue and gold eyes to him. "Tonight is for rest."

Zevran bowed his head to indicate his acquiescence, then scooped up a half-emptied pack while suggesting an idea of how to pass the time and extracted a collection of illicit books, reading off the titles as he did.

"I brought my copy of that," Fenris commented offhandedly when Zevran named the last novel, his favorite of the bunch.

The blond elf smirked, but it was Hawke who caught the other elf's attention with her curious glance.

Fenris shrugged and explained, "Isabela is not the only one who can obtain banned books. The euphemisms are often . . . enlightening. And I needed something to occupy my time while waiting for you to arrive."

Hawke stared at him intently, making him want to shift restlessly beneath her scrutiny until she asked, "You read erotic novels for ideas?" When he nodded mutely, she added, "I find that adorable and sexy."

One black eyebrow lifted upward skeptically. "Adorable? Puppies are adorable. Kittens are adorable. I do not see how reading pornographic books can be both adorable and sexy; that logic seems the same sort that brought Isabela to the conclusion that I could smolder and be cold at the same time. They don't go together . . . ."

She laughed and shook her head. "I've always found you incredibly sexy, intimidatingly intelligent, endearingly awkward and so very, very adorable, all rolled into one."

Unconvinced, he narrowed his eyes as he gazed at her, but she and Zevran could both see him trying to conceal his pleasure at her compliments.

#

Delighted to discover Fenris packed her favorite shirt, the one he'd given her, she slipped into it after her bath, then curled up next to him on the sofa as they dined on the gifts of wine, cheese, bread and meat. Seated opposite Fenris, who leaned back into the corner with one arm stretched across the back of the sofa and the other on the armrest, Zevran idly stroked Hawke's calf as she lounged against the warrior's chest. Slouching nonchalantly, he watched Fenris surreptitiously, waiting for the warrior's tension to ease as he patiently kept his movements slow while the other elf looked on. The twinkle in Hawke's eye revealed she knew what Zevran was up to.

When Fenris bent his elbow on the back of the sofa and lifted his hand to card his fingers through Hawke's hair, Zevran turned to massaging her calf muscle with his fingertips. She let her head fall back against Fenris's shoulder and closed her eyes with a content sigh. She felt a resonating chuckle low in his chest and smiled.

"Will you tell us a story, Fenris?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows as Zevran's lazy smile grew into a grin.

"You wish to hear a story? What about?"

"Oh, you could recite the entire Chant of Light," she replied, "and I'd listen for all the weeks it took to finish. I just want to hear your voice."

Fenris chuckled; she shivered as the sound vibrated against her once more.

"It is quite delectable, your voice," Zevran purred. "Its exquisite rumble is like warm honey oozing over roughened stones. It makes me long for another taste."

Fenris gazed at him while the tips of his ears and his cheeks flushed slightly, but did not respond to the comment. Instead, he cleared his throat and began.

"Long ago, before the First Blight, lived an old man and an old woman. One day, a beautiful stranger came to their home, seeking shelter. The elderly couple gave her food and a place to sleep. In return, she offered them a golden mirror that would grant three wishes.

"Looking into the mirror, the woman frowned at her wrinkles and gray hair, then wished to be young again. Suddenly, the face of a lovely maiden stared back at her. The man grabbed the mirror and angrily shouted, 'You are so selfish! You could have given youth to us both! I wish you weren't so stupid.'

"At once, the woman was brilliant beyond measure and saw that her husband had never loved her; he tolerated her only because her age and ignorance made his own seem less by comparison.

"Angry now, the old woman grabbed for the mirror and at the same time, they both said, 'I hate you. I wish that you get exactly what you deserve!' With that, they were back together, both ugly, both old, but now knowing exactly how much contempt they had for one another."

Zevran laughed, but Hawke scoffed and asked, "Where did you learn that sad story?"

"Sebastian*."

"A priest's cautionary tale, hmm?" Zevran asked.

Fenris glanced at him and said, "Perhaps."

As Hawke stifled a yawn and stretched, Fenris watched Zevran gently lift both her ankles and slide closer to rest her legs over his. He returned to administering a soothing massage, this time to her knee and thigh. Intent green eyes moved from the nimble fingers kneading Hawke's flesh over slender wrists and toned forearms revealed by the folded sleeves of Zevran's shirt. His gaze trailed up one bicep and across a strong shoulder to climb the other elf's neck until he reached the sun-kissed face turned to him with a friendly curve to his lips—lips of which he remembered the feel, lips he sometimes longed for once more, especially that full, firm bottom lip he wished to taste again. When his eyes traced the bold nose and met Zevran's golden gaze at last, he appeared relaxed yet interested in the warrior's perusal. Fenris's hand dropped away from Hawke's hair to return to the back of the sofa as the two looked at one another steadily.

Switching hands to continue working the muscles of Hawke's leg, Zevran smoothed his other fingers over the back of the warrior's hand. Fenris turned his wrist and his battle-roughened fingers clasped other calloused, but longer fingers momentarily. Zevran waited several heartbeats before a muscle in the other's jaw twitched as he steeled himself, then finally released the assassin's hand, choosing instead to open his fingers to display his empty palm. Keeping his eyes on Fenris's wary face and missing Hawke's growing smile as she watched the proceedings from the corner of her eye, Zevran brushed his fingertips across the slightly raised lyrium marks lining the Tevinter elf's flesh. He applied the slightest pressure as the pads of his fingers circled the offered palm and set a soothing rhythm that soon had Fenris's eyelids growing heavy as he inhaled deeply, relishing combined scents of Hawke and Zevran that served to soothe his nerves. Warm, liquid desire pooled inside him, then spread languorously through the depths of his body, heightening his awareness of the other two present.

"Shall I share an Antivan poem**, my dears?" Zevran purred. Without waiting for either to answer, he cleared his throat and recited:

"The symphony I see in thee, it whispers songs to me.

Songs of hot breath upon my neck, songs of soft sighs by my head.

Songs of nails upon my back, songs of thee come to my bed."

Stunned speechless, Hawke glanced up at Fenris above her and pressed her lips together, unable to maintain her restraint when his twitched with his own struggle. As one, they burst into laughter and were joined by Zevran a moment later.

"I am not the original poet, mind you. I heard it from a target long ago. And notice I did not promise it to be good poetry."

Still chuckling, Fenris said, "That was . . . something."

Zevran regarded them both with the sly smile of a content cat and said, "It is good to see you both smile." His eyes focused on Hawke. "You took my advice, yes?"

Grinning while Fenris raised an eyebrow questioningly, Hawke said, "I did. And I am."

"Meaning?" Fenris prompted.

"Meaning I am happy," she explained, smiling up at him.

He cupped her cheek lightly in his free palm and tilted her chin up to capture her lips with his, slipping his tongue against the welcoming warmth of hers briefly. When they parted, his hand slid down her neck to rub his thumb over the purple mark. She snuggled against him once more. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply as his fingers curled around Zevran's still-circling hand, halting its movement so Fenris could press their palms together, fingers entwined, and squeeze lightly.

#

To both Hawke's and Zevran's surprise, Fenris invited the blond elf to sleep in the bed that night. As Hawke curled up against his chest and nuzzled his neck, Fenris laid his head down on their pillow and stared over her to the golden-haired Antivan haloed by the firelight behind him, watching as he scooted closer to Hawke's backside then relaxed against his own pillow. Zevran offered the elf a sleepy smile, stifled a yawn and promptly gave in to the eyelids drooping wearily over his shadowed ale-brown eyes with a pair of intently scrutinizing, not-quite-trusting yet curious green eyes following him into his dreams.

#

Hawke awoke to the lyrium in the arm beneath her cheek glowing softly, muscles bunched into a solid mass as the bed rocked gently, and the sound of Fenris breathing heavily. She opened her eyes slowly to find a blond head bobbing purposefully over his groin as his hips jerked in small snapping movements in response to the soft purrs wrapping his hardened length in wet warmth. Her gaze traveled from the loose trousers bunched around Fenris's knees, over his bared hip, taut stomach and laboring chest to find his neck arched, head pressed back into the pillow as his free hand gripped its edge, eyes closed, and his bottom lip caught between his teeth to stifle his grunts of pleasure. The light emanating from each of his tattoos engulfed him in an ethereal essence that stole her breath for the awe-inspiring beauty of the elf before her.

Nearly purring aloud herself, her own lust unfurled deep within her core as she wiggled upward to lean across his shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Zevran look up at her as he released Fenris's cock and let it slide from his mouth to lave the tender sac below with his flattened tongue. She gave him a saucy wink, earning her twinkling eyes and a slight smile around his mouthful of sensitive flesh, then turned her attention back to Fenris. The arm she'd been using as a pillow rose to her waist, and his hand gripped her side when her teeth gently closed over his earlobe. She tugged lightly, then sent her wet tongue gliding along its length, taking her time to reach the elongated tip, which she sucked into her mouth to tease in an imitation of Zevran's ministrations below. A deeply-held groan loosened in Fenris's chest; she smiled. She made tiny sweeping circles on a return path until she was able to tickle the inner curve of his ear with her squirming, thrusting tongue. His arm locked around her as his breath hitched, and his hips bucked against Zevran's mouth when the elf's talented tongue pressed along the thick vein running the length of his cock, then swirled over the pressure-sensitive spot just beneath the flared head. When Hawke eased her teeth over the tip of the warrior's ear once more, biting firmly without drawing blood, his heels dug into the mattress below him as his body stiffened, and he gave a wordless cry of release as he emptied himself onto Zevran's questing tongue.

Hawke stroked his brow and planted a kiss on his cheek when Fenris, shuddering with aftershocks, relaxed against the bed once more. He opened his eyes when he felt Zevran rise over him. With a small smile on his damp lips, the Antivan claimed Hawke's chin when she looked back at him over her shoulder and drew her into a thorough kiss thick with Fenris's spilled seed. Maintaining the lip lock through slow, controlled movements, she rose to her knees and straightened, feeling what little breath Zevran left her stolen by the feel of the other elf's hands on her thighs as they slid upward to unfasten the buttons on her shirt. When the material parted at last, he tugged it from her shoulders and whisked it away, tossing it toward a darkened corner, forgotten even before it reached the floor.

Breaking the kiss briefly, she hummed with pleasure and quipped, "Essence of Fenris."

Fenris snorted his amusement while Zevran laughed softly against her lips. His hands roamed over her hips from behind as he reclaimed her mouth to share the final remnants of Fenris's taste. Fenris knelt in front of her, his hands slowly skimming her body between her shoulders and hips and back again before cupping her breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he bent his head to kiss them before plucking each peak with his fingertips. She reached for his shoulders to steady herself as Zevran's questing fingers brushed over her ass, cupping it lightly as he smoothed his palms over each of her rounded cheeks, parting them slightly as he pressed himself closer, letting her feel his hardened member through the fabric of his pants.

Zevran pulled away slowly with a pleased smile as he looked down at her dazed, flushed face before briefly disappearing into the other room. In his absence, Fenris took advantage of her freed lips and captured them with his own, reclaiming her as his with a low growl rising in his throat. So befuddled by all the attention was she, she remained oblivious to Zevran's return until his now-naked form knelt behind her once more.

Another reason for his absence became apparent when he coated his fingers in a slick balm, then slipped one between her ass cheeks to lubricate her puckered opening. With hitching breath, she moaned into the warrior's mouth as she adjusted to the strangely erotic sensation. Such play had not interested her before the dream had awakened her to its possible pleasures. Sensing her uncertainty, Zevran feathered kisses along her neck and shoulder, then eased a hushed command to relax into her ear. When his fingertip pressed against her, she pulled back from Fenris and rested her forehead against his shoulder, closing her eyes as Zevran's long, nimble finger penetrated her slowly. Gently, he pulled it back until only the tip remained inside, then slowly pushed into her once more before repeating the process.

To distract her, Fenris's hands steadied her hips as he nibbled and licked just beneath her ear. When she began to respond to him again, seeking his mouth once more, Fenris let his palms glide over her curves and pulled her against him with a rounded buttock in each hand, separating her cheeks slightly as Zevran introduced a second finger. She pressed back against the intruding fingers, rotating her hips slightly in encouragement. Zevran worked patiently for several minutes to prepare her while the warrior's fingers found a destination of their own, combing through the thatch of curls between her legs teasingly before sliding over her throbbing clitoris. Her soft moan turned into a wanton mewl as she tilted her hips forward to press against his hand then back to meet Zevran's.

Trembling beneath a deluge of sensations, she curled her arms around his neck and held on tightly while Fenris suckled and nibbled her earlobe gently until Zevran withdrew his fingers, stacked the pillows behind his back and reclined against them. Fenris turned her attention to Zevran, who bade her straddle him backwards. He applied more lubricant, then guided her hips down to his waiting erection, easing her onto his length slowly as Fenris held her lust-glazed eyes with his. When her passage engulfed Zevran's cock, she took a moment to squeeze herself around him, acquainting herself with both the fullness of his intrusion and the combination of waning apprehension and building desire that swirled through her about being penetrated anally for the first time.

Zevran urged her to lay back against his chest, whispering in an elegant cadence that did nearly as much to soothe her nerves as the words themselves. When he and Fenris were both assured she was ready to proceed, Zevran's hands skimmed from her shoulders down her arms and on to her thighs, where he nudged them farther apart, keeping her carefully balanced atop him as he remained buried within her. He brushed his lips over her shoulder and smiled up at a waiting Fenris, whose intense gaze threatened to melt him into a messy puddle of _YES_ right there in that moment without another touch or groan of pleasure for the pure, unadulterated _want_ found within the green sparkling in reflected firelight.

Having had time to recover, the warrior's burgeoning cock bobbed proudly as he moved forward on his knees toward the woman splayed before him, then bent forward to catch himself on his hands as his lips and tongue left a trail of wet kisses from her ankle to her knee and beyond. He skipped over the core of her desire and moved down the inside of her other leg. He smiled up at her when she squirmed deliciously, earning a muffled groan from Zevran who buried his face against her shoulder and battled for control of his body. With brief pauses to suckle several points along her inner thigh, he made his way toward her mound once more, but stopped just short of it to latch on to her softest skin where her thigh met her hip and leave an impression of his teeth. He could smell her desire, a siren's call glistening against her skin in the clash of dim firelight against the illumination of tattoos that glowed brighter with each passing moment, oozing over her flesh enticingly as he watched her breasts rising and falling with her panting breaths.

Not swayed by the plea in her expression, his eyes twinkled devilishly as he drew her flesh into his mouth. He sucked forcefully, drawing her blood to the surface, marking her again in this intimate place that would be known to only the trio in that room. A thrill shuddered through his body as his cock pulsed with need, the iridescent pearl beading on its tip proof of his rioting desire.

At last, his tongue licked its way to her slick folds. He ducked down to gather her cream and savor her taste, flattening his tongue against her slit as he dragged it up to her waiting clitoris to suckle it gently between his lips. His hands slid over her legs until they held her thighs wide open. Zevran's hands released them into Fenris's care and moved up to her breasts to pinch and pluck at her nipples as she lay struggling to rock her hips encouragingly, impaled on Zevran's cock while Fenris's tongue explored between her legs. All she could do was brace herself with her hands on the mattress to each side of Zevran at an awkward angle and give herself over to the whims of her elven lovers.

With his tongue and teeth, he brought her to the brink of orgasm, then he suddenly dipped down to bathe Zevran's sac with his tongue, teasing him lazily as if they had all the time in the world and Fenris meant to take full advantage of it. He returned his attention to Hawke's cunt when Zevran cursed in frustration and strained toward him, then moved back to Zevran minutes later when Hawke writhed once more.

" _Braska!_ I cannot wait much longer," Zevran warned with a voice dripping desperation.

Still, Fenris waited until he had both whimpering and moaning incoherently with their need before he rose to his knees, licking his lips as he looked down into two pairs of eyes begging for release, then positioned his cock at her waiting entrance. He tilted his hips forward until just the tip of his cock slipped inside her then paused.

In a raspy, lust-laden shadow of his usual voice, he asked, "Is this what you want, Sera?"

She nearly sobbed in frustration, but instead nodded wordlessly.

"Tell me," he commanded quietly.

"Yes! _Yes_ , this is what I want. Please!"

The devilish grin returned just as he eased his entire length into her, moving with care as she was already filled by Zevran. Her eyelids fluttered before closing completely, and she moaned as he seated himself firmly inside her, his pulsing cock sliding along Zevran's member, too. Both elves groaned at the sensation and concentrated on keeping control of themselves while Hawke again adjusted to the intimate intrusion of her body.

After a lengthy pause, Fenris pulled back slowly, then eased inside again, relishing the embrace of her body and the sensation of rubbing the sensitive underside of his cock against Zevran's with only Hawke's silken wall between them. If he was greedy, he could get used to this. He could take this pleasure, pleasure beyond all his previous experiences and imaginings, and cling tightly, guarding it jealously from the world. Something precious only the three of them shared. Something cruel magisters and their depraved apprentices could not taint. Something of his they could not spoil. He wanted to be greedy . . . so very much. His thrusting movements rocked Hawke against Zevran's cock as well, and as Fenris worked his way up to a faster pace and finally gave in to the painful need to unleash the full luminescence of his tattoos in the midst of his intense pleasure once everyone settled into the new arrangement of body parts, all three had a difficult time not slipping immediately over the edge of ecstasy.

Hawke tumbled first. When Fenris lifted her leg over his shoulder, changing the angle as he drove into her even deeper, her head fell back and her hair blanketed Zevran's neck and shoulder as her toes curled and her cunt pulsated around the warrior's unyielding cock, milking her puckered hole around Zevran's stiff length at the same time. At her body's insistence, Zevran's hips snapped upward violently beneath Hawke's weight and the force of the other's thrusts until his seed splashed her tight passage as a shout of completion bellowed from deep inside him.

When Zevran fell back, panting, Fenris slowed his thrusts, eventually stilling completely, then gathered Hawke to him, lifting her up as her arms wound around his neck and the other elf's spent cock slipped from inside her, returning to its protective sheath once more as it softened. He turned and collapsed on the bed beside Zevran with her on his lap, his engorged cock bobbing against her ass. She straddled his hips and sank onto his cock, seating him deeply within her pulsating cunt before setting a brisk pace of her own. He reached up to pull her lips down to his, his panting breath fanning across her inflamed cheeks between kisses as she rode him.

Never one to be left out, Zevran sat up on his haunches and reached for her, cupping a breast, squeezing it gently, then rolling and plucking her nipple. She arched into his touch, sitting up once more while letting her head fall back as her eyes closed. His hand slithered down her stomach to delve into the dampness beyond her curls. When he found her clitoris, he rubbed, pinched and circled it with unfaltering, patient strokes. Fenris watched from below her, relishing the joy on her face as her rebuilding desire was driven skyward once more beneath the combined assaults of her lovers. Her pace increased and Fenris curled his fingers around her hips, lifting her until his cock nearly escaped her sheath only to slam her down again, impaling her over and over. She pinned Zevran's hand, imprisoning it against her in a silent plea to continue as she rolled her hips wantonly, panting loudly, whimpering as her cunt clutched at Fenris's cock each time it retreated, then exulted each time it returned to her drenched depths.

"C-can't . . . ," she whispered hoarsely, "close . . . so close."

Fenris yanked her down to his chest again, trapping Zevran's arm between them, and commanded, "Come."

He buried his teeth into her shoulder at the base of her neck harshly, and her cunt clenched around him as she balked at the pain just before ecstasy slammed into her core, engulfing her as she cried out . . . and was gone, soaring in a white abyss of pleasure so sharp, her heart may have stopped beating momentarily, ill-equipped as it was to process such overwhelming sensations.

Several moments lapsed before her cry melted away, leaving only his as he exploded inside her with once-smooth strokes reduced to erratic, jerking thrusts of his hips. When he stilled at last, she collapsed against his chest, listening to his labored breathing as she tried to inhale slowly and calm her own. A bead of perspiration trickled from her forehead onto his damp shoulder, mingling with his sweat. Zevran extracted his arm from between them, earning a pair of drowsy apologies, giving them a chuckle in return as he flopped onto his back next to Fenris and smoothed the back of his hand over Hawke's glistening cheek.

"You are so captivating, sweet Hawke, especially in moments of ecstasy."

Smiling, she captured his hand and pressed a light kiss against the back of it, then simply held it.

Fenris smacked her ass squarely with his flattened palm, startling her. She lifted her head to look at him and arched an eyebrow. A little smile curved his lips, and his intense gaze threatened to steal away what breath she'd recaptured.

"We should bathe, 'my beautiful Fereldan bird'."

She laughed at his chosen endearment and rolled to his other side, stretching contentedly as she yawned widely. When she opened her eyes once more, she found a pair of green eyes and a pair of gold watching her.

With a smirk, she asked, "Haven't had enough of me yet, gentlemen?"

Zevran chuckled and wandered beyond the fireplace as Fenris leaned over her and quietly said, "Not even if today was the last of forever."

Struck speechless by his earnest sincerity and the unspoken words shining in his eyes, she leaned in to him and brushed her lips against his in a series of lingering butterfly kisses filled with far more tender promise than even that faded red favor held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The tale Fenris shares is from the lore codex The Demon's Gift found during Sebastian's act 2 companion quest.  
> ** Zevran's poem is, of course, from Dragon Age: Origins.


	12. Cherished

As Zevran tugged the rope over the exposed ceiling beam of the lodge, securing it to the wall behind her as her bound wrists remained raised just slightly above her head in front of her, he said, "Last night, I noticed you know the secret of elven ears, little minx."

Looking at Hawke pointedly, Fenris murmured, "Perhaps it is not only elven ears."

"Oh, ho, ho!" Zevran laughed. "That is useful to know, yes?"

Her cheeks turned pink, but she remained silent. Fenris reached out to smooth a hand over the bared flesh of her hip, his light touch tickling her and she sucked in her stomach and bit her lower lip. With a small smile, he stepped up behind her.

"Are you all right, Sera?" he asked softly, his lips moving against her ear as he stood at her shoulder, very near but no longer touching her elsewhere.

She tilted her head slightly as she nodded and released her lower lip from between her teeth. Zevran stepped up on her other side and stroked a finger lightly over her cheek.

"All right, sweet Hawke. Your movements will sometimes be restricted, as they are now. You may also be asked at other times to hold yourself still in whatever position you are placed." He grinned devilishly. "No ropes to do the difficult work for you, my dear, but as this is our first session together, we will discover boundaries together.

"We may push you beyond your comfort zone, and you are expected to endure, to at least _try_ , but our play remains consensual no matter who is in control or it does not continue. There is no shame in having limits. We all—yes, even I—have them. If you enjoy something, let us know so. If you are uncomfortable with something or apprehensive about it, say so. If you are absolutely and undeniably repulsed, we must know that, as well.

"You have said your goal is to feel and through these experiences, perhaps heal long-held hurts. Your desire is to be led through pain and then guided back into pleasure. Is this still your wish?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"We will make you hurt. We will leave marks on your body. We will make you cry. And if you're a good girl," he added with a sly smile, "we will make you scream in pleasure." He sobered once more and said, "We will also soothe you, hold you, care for you, help you heal." He tapped her in the middle of her chest with one finger. "I want you to know that in here. And when you reach the point that you cannot possibly take anymore, cling to that knowledge."

She chewed her bottom lip once more, drawing Zevran's eyes to it. He used the pad of his thumb to free it from her teeth, then rub over it. She shivered, evoking another smile.

"Do you have any questions, Hawke?"

She shook her head solemnly, then stood motionless as Fenris tied a blindfold on her and Zevran whispered a safe word into her ear. With a deep, steadying breath, she gave herself over to their care.

#

After spending the morning and afternoon indulging one another's appetites, both amorous and eventually culinary, she thought she'd be satiated for a time, but the creative pair easily proved her wrong. She moaned breathlessly once more as Fenris suckled the raw peak of one breast into his mouth, using his tongue to sweep the small rounded piece of ice against her inflamed flesh as Zevran did the same to the other. Cooled candle wax crumbled from her skin and bits of it fell to the floor while she squirmed against them with her wrists bound high above her head now as she strained to remain on tiptoe.

After snugly binding them with rope, her swollen breasts received the silk treatment first as they each dragged a scarf across her flesh with the softest of touches, coaxing her senses into a heightened state as anxiety gave way to pleasant sensations. Next came fine sand. One elf gently rubbed and massaged handfuls of it against each plumped peak until her skin sang and her nipples pebbled painfully while the other ran his fingernails lightly over other parts of her, making her shiver despite the burning pain of the first's ministrations. She couldn't remember her skin ever being so sensitive, and it made her toes curl with both frustration and delight as she squirmed helplessly in her restraints. Once they'd rinsed the grit away, they turned to hot wax dripped across various body parts followed by suckling her breasts with tongues made cold from ice as one of them kept her thighs parted while the other stroked a feather lightly over her inner thighs and, rarely, her engorged clitoris. It was enough to drive a woman mad as they reduced her to a gasping, quivering mess with a cunt aching to be filled.

When Zevran released her abraded nipple and attached a chilled clamp snugly, she hissed between her teeth. He pressed a second into Fenris's waiting hand so he could do the same. The warrior then grabbed another ice chip from the bowl Zevran had left outside in the freezing weather the day before and rubbed it between his fingers. The Antivan ran his warm palms over Hawke's thighs, kneading soothingly, then lifted one of her knees once more and held it in place just as Fenris's frigid, dripping fingers scraped over her folds, startling her. She gasped and shied away from his frozen touch, but Zevran's other hand rose to her rump and corrected her position. A frosty finger dipped inside her wet cunt, and she shuddered as it began fucking her.

Zevran guided her knee back down after several moments and moved behind her as Fenris slipped a different cold finger into her cunt when the first grew warm. Her inner walls clutched at his pumping finger eagerly; he smiled, enjoying her reaction. Zevran smoothed his palm over her ass, briefly cupping one cheek before smacking it lightly. Her breath hitched in surprise; she spasmed around the warrior's finger once more. Zevran repeated the spanking, adding more energy to each strike until both cheeks glowed pink. She moaned softly and strained toward him when his roughened palms roamed over the warmed globes of her ass as he inspected his handiwork.

When the blond elf set to work heating her shoulder blades, buttocks and the backs of her thighs with solid, thudding strikes of his flogger, she began to whimper. Fenris continued to finger her, keeping ice thawing in his hand and switching fingers often to keep the one fucking her as cold as possible. When she began to instinctively shy away from the strikes as the slow burn turned painful, Fenris worked his way up to two chilled fingers. Each time her hips jerked forward, she impaled herself on his hand.

Using his free hand, he removed a nipple clamp, then cupped her breast and soothed her skin with his tongue, drawing the peak into his warm mouth with an insistence that soon had her arching her back. She thrust her breasts toward Fenris and her ass toward Zevran, who changed his strokes of the flogger to induce a sharper sting on her backside. Her gasps grew louder, her whimpers more desperate. Small squelching sounds filled the room as her cunt sucked at Fenris's fingers eagerly.

When Fenris felt her muscles tightening all over as she braced for a rush of ecstasy, his fingers slipped from inside her just as he released her nipple, giving it a final nip with his teeth at the same moment he removed the thawed clamp from her other breast. She whined plaintively, and his eyes found Zevran's as they shared a mutual smile. He cupped her cheek in his palm.

"Are you all right, Sera?" Fenris asked softly, watching her lips since he couldn't see her eyes.

Panting, she complained, "I want . . . I need release."

The whipping ceased as she felt Fenris kneel in front of her. Her lifted her knee over his shoulder; she bit her bottom lip in anticipation. He parted her nether lips gently, then leaned in to run his tongue along her slit. Her gasp ended with a moan.

"I want you to do something for me, Sera."

Before she could respond, he flattened his tongue and swirled it over her swollen clitoris.

"Y-yes?" she stammered with an unsteady voice.

His tongue delved between her folds to tickle the entrance to her channel. She trembled. When he pulled back and looked up at her, the Antivan's flattened palm landed against an inflamed ass cheek. Her yelp of pain slipped into another plaintive moan when the warrior's tongue suddenly flicked over her clitoris.

He paused long enough to say, "I want you to wait."

Another smack from behind, this one on the other cheek, then his velvety tongue returned in a long stroke along her folds.

"W-w-wait?"

His tongue curled against her clitoris, then he suckled the bud between his lips before he hummed confirmation against it. Her knees threatened to buckle. Both the vibration and the sound of his resultant chuckle nearly sent her over the edge, permission or no.

"Will you do that for me? Wait until I tell you to come?"

His breath tickled her wet folds. Noticing the wiggle in her hips, he pursed his lips and blew across her clitoris gently, his warm breath cooling before it reached her heated flesh.

"Hhhnnnggghhh."

Fenris smiled when she muttered an unintelligible response. He flattened his tongue and pressed it against her clitoris lightly, then wiggled it from side to side. Her hands curled into fists, her head fell back, lubricating juices oozed from her cunt.

"Will you wait for permission, Sera?"

She growled softly with frustration, but breathed a barely-heard confirmation amid her loud panting.

He lowered her leg from his shoulder and stood up. "Proud of my beautiful Fereldan bird," he said, then brushed his lips across hers before stepping around her to join Zevran.

#

Tears leaked from the bottom of her sodden blindfold. Certain she couldn't take any more, she repeatedly made up her mind to halt the scene, but Zevran whispered in her ear how well she was doing with a voice that soothed her each time. And each time, her tongue stilled without uttering the all-stop. She reminded herself to 'bend, don't break', then accepted the pain of warrior's lashes once more.

And then, something inside her shifted.

Without her sight, her hearing had been her most reliable sense and suddenly, every sound seemed far away, muffled. She heard each strike of the flogger, but she no longer felt its sting. She sensed others near her, but could no longer pinpoint them. An odd giddiness bubbled inside her; she nearly laughed, tempted to throw her head back and bray like an ass. And then that urge evaporated, too. She inhaled deeply . . . and did not choke. Over the precipice, she plummeted then soared, jubilant as emptiness poured in to fill her up, to sweep away the festering toxicity long-buried inside. Renewal. Rebirth. She tasted freedom and gulped greedily.

#

She awoke to discover the cabin dark and quiet but for the blaze in the fireplace. Two bodies curled around hers and the smell of medicinal salve tickled her nose. She ached all over, but felt strangely lightened, as if a weight had been lifted. Cherished, content, she closed her eyes and returned to slumber.

#

She slipped into her favorite shirt and padded from the bedroom to find Zevran standing with his arms crossed over his chest, gazing through the front window of the lodge as the sun began to rise. She walked up behind him and peered past him to see Fenris bundled up in thick clothes and heavy boots as he swung an axe methodically, splitting wooden logs.

"Has he been out there long?" she asked.

Zevran nodded. "For some time now."

"Is he all right? He looks rather . . . exuberant, as if demolishing is his purpose, not splitting them for firewood."

He looked at her over his shoulder and said, "He is conflicted, I think, about his past and what you ask of him now. I do not think he trusts himself to dominate you alone just yet."

The color drained from her face as her eyes widened. "How bloody stupid of me! I trust him to . . . . That's why I wanted him to . . . . Shit!"

He turned and hugged her tightly, trapping her arms between them. She rested her head against his bare shoulder with a sigh. Her eyes fell to the window once more where she discovered Fenris watching them with his breath clouding in front of him in the frigid morning. She reached out and pressed her fingertips to the glass, stroking them down its surface as if it was his chest. He smiled at her, then turned back to his chore.

"How are you feeling this morning, my dear?" Zevran asked quietly when she dropped her hand away from the window and tucked her arm between their chests once more.

"Sore, but . . . ," she inhaled deeply and considered her answer before she gave it, "dare I say, deliciously so?"

Zevran threw his head back and laughed. " _That_ is our little minx."

She grinned, still watching Fenris through the window, and said, "Something strange happened."

"Oh?" he prompted.

"I was in the moment, his lashes, your voice whispering in my ear; I was struggling to continue. And then I–I was . . . flying. I was _drunk_. Something shifted inside me, as if I let go. I don't really remember much after until I awoke sometime during the night and felt you and Fenris sleeping on each side of me. I felt . . . safe. The kind of safe I haven't felt since I woke up during the night after my duel with the Arishok and found only Fenris remained with me, holding my hand as he dozed in a chair next to my bed. He was gone when I awoke next and has never spoken of it, but I know it wasn't a dream. Or when I discovered him on the outdoor balcony a week after a Carta assassin used it to break into my bedchamber. He reluctantly confessed he'd been keeping watch each night after I went to bed." With a soft laugh, she continued, "Or when I was a girl, Father would carry me to bed if I fell asleep while playing after dinner, or when Mother would bathe my forehead with a cold cloth when I had a fever. Is that silly? To think of childhood innocence after . . . well, after taking part in some very not-innocent things?"

He rested his cheek atop her head and smiled. "No, I understand."

She sighed in relief and slipped her arms from between them to wrap them around his waist.

"Thank you, Zev," she whispered.

He lifted his head and tilted her chin up so he could capture her lips in a brief kiss. When he pulled back, his lips curved into the lazy smile he usually wore while his finger trailed over her cheek, down her neck and to the collar of her shirt. She watched his face as he slipped each button back through its hole with one hand while he kept his other arm around her. After, he swept the material from her shoulder and watched it slide down her arm, exposing one breast, the tip of which immediately pebbled in the chilled air. He brushed his knuckle over it, receiving a shiver from her, then lifted his gaze to hers.

"I should inspect our work, yes?"

She grinned, and he backed her up to the sofa, then glanced at the window to make sure Fenris was still in view. He hooked a finger in the other side of the collar and sent the shirt tumbling down her other arm, only to leave it pooled around her wrists. His golden gaze swept over the tousled raven locks tumbling to her shoulders, then moved over her bared curves. Using the same finger as before, he trailed his knuckle over her stomach from her rib cage down to the thatch of curls between her legs, then returned to brush the outer swell of her breast while he looked over her abraded nipples to verify the wounds were superficial and healing.

He lifted her hand and turned her in a half-twirl until she faced the sofa, earning another little laugh. She grasped the back of the furniture with both hands as instructed and found herself bent slightly at the waist as Zevran stood behind her. A shiver wiggled up her spine when her hair was swept to one side so he could see her striped shoulder blades.

"You did very well, sweet Hawke."

She smiled as his fingertips trailed down her sides, tickling her very lightly until he reached her hips. He knelt behind her and lifted the shirttail in order to press his lips to both rounded cheeks. She chuckled and twisted slightly to look down at him as he grinned up at her. She bit her lip and hissed when his palm smoothed over her raw rump.

He hummed appreciatively and purred, "Lovely. You will think of us when you sit for the next few days."

Her eyes followed him as he stood once more, but she found her gaze drawn to the other tattooed elf now standing right outside the window, watching. Following her gaze, Zevran caught sight of Fenris, fished in the pocket of a borrowed pair of lounging pants for a moment, then withdrew a small blade. He held it up to show Fenris, who nodded as Hawke eyed them both curiously.

"Turn to me again." Zevran had her lean back, grinning when she winced as she lowered her weight onto the back of the low sofa and steadied herself with both hands. "What I do now is with his permission."

Her eyes moved to Fenris beyond the window, whose face remained impassive, until Zevran's touch beneath her chin brought her attention back to the elf in front of her.

"No rope now, but don't move," he cautioned. He unsheathed the sharp blade and bent closer. When he pressed it to her skin, he glanced up at her. "This will take a few minutes, but will not be deep. He asked that it be temporary . . . for now."

She nodded and inhaled a calming breath slowly as her eyes drifted back to the spectator outside. She focused on the shadowed green depths of his gaze as Zevran worked the blade against her skin, dabbing away the oozing blood with a clean towel as he did. The warrior's smile grew, and he did not bother to hide the adoration in his eyes. Even as she concentrated on controlling her breathing through the persistent pain, her heart warmed.

#

Taking a break from packing in preparation for their return to the city, she found him curled up on the sofa, lounging on his side and using his arm as a pillow as he dozed. As she drew near, his eyes opened to watch her kneel next to him. She pressed a light kiss to his cheek then brushed his shaggy hair back from his face.

"Thank you, Fenris," she whispered, her eyes shining.

The corner of his mouth tilted into a smile. "May I see it?"

She sat back and unbuttoned the shirt once more, then let him open it further to see the new decoration on her side. His eyes traced the sweeping, stylized letters F, S and Z as they looped, interconnected over one side of her rib cage beneath her breast, then he looked up at her again, slid his hand to the back of her neck and tugged her down, bringing her lips to his. Lazily, his tongue swept over her lips and she parted them slightly in offering, which he accepted. He growled appreciatively and coaxed her onto the sofa, gathering her against his chest possessively, sandwiching himself between her body and the back of the sofa as his legs tangled with hers. She gasped against his lips when his hand moved from her waist down to cup her ass cheek. He squeezed lightly, then slipped beneath the fabric to rub his fingertips over the welts striping her flesh, quickening her breath as pain battled with pleasure.

When he broke the kiss and laid his head back against his arm once more, she rubbed her palm over his other bicep soothingly and asked, "Are your arms exhausted from chopping wood?"

"Not so tired as to keep them from being wrapped around you."

She grinned and replied, "It is surprising to discover you're a romantic, serah."

He grunted and said, "Keep that to yourself. I have a fearsome reputation to protect."

She chuckled and traced his lip with her fingertip, then said, "Indeed." She paused for a moment, sobering before she added, "Thank you for making my fantasies come true."

"I'd say 'my pleasure' but given the reactions I observed, I'm certain it was a pleasure for us all," he replied, eyes twinkling.

She snickered. "I know it hasn't been easy for you to keep your jealousy reined. You've indulged my desires even so. I'd wonder what I've done to deserve a gift like you in my life, but I fear jinxing my good fortune."

"What wouldn't I do for my Sera?" he whispered.


	13. Little Girls and a Lost Kitten

Seeing the door to Hawke's estate standing ajar, the Guard-Captain let herself in. A pile of supplies sat in a corner of the entryway, warranting no more than a glance as she marched into the main room. Finding it deserted, she glanced up and saw Fenris and Zevran, laden with heavy packs, disappearing onto the landing above.

"Fenris," she called, then waited until he peered over the balustrade at her. "Where's Hawke?"

With brow furrowed, he said, "She left a short while ago to get Maric."

"Donnic took Maric with him on patrol in Lowtown about an hour ago. I just came from the barracks and didn't see her on my way over here."

Fenris and Zevran glanced at one another, dropping their burdens where they stood as Zevran said, "She cannot be far."

Aveline squared her shoulders and demanded, "What is it?"

"Ah, she left her armor here," Zevran answered as he and Fenris descended the staircase. "I am none too sure she's armed either."

Fenris scowled, muttering, "'Just a short trip to let the Hendyrs know we've returned and to take my hound off their hands,' she said. 'A quick jog there and back. Only a few minutes,' she said. When I find that foolish woman, I'll not let her leave my sight again."

They checked the Keep once more, but headed to Lowtown when they didn't find her there. When they caught up with Donnic, they found Maric still with him and no Hawke in sight.

"I'm sorry," the guardsman said, "I haven't seen Serah Hawke today."

"The slums and alienage are nearby, so I'm going to check with her uncle and Merrill," Aveline said with a sigh. To Fenris and Zevran, she said, "You two should check the Hanged Man. If that fails, look into getting Varric on this, then take Maric back to the estate and see if he can pick up her scent and find a trail. Donnic, return to the barracks and round up any of the off-duty men willing to volunteer for a search party. For now, this needs to be contained. People may panic if they find out who we're searching for; they'll discover she is, in fact, just human."

Fenris grunted softly; Aveline glanced at him.

"I've wondered if you remembered that yourself," he growled.

Aveline's eyes narrowed as she took a step toward him. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"We should be searching, yes?" Zevran quietly asked.

"Agreed," Donnic said, looking back and forth between his wife and his friend as they glowered at one another. He laid his hand on Aveline's shoulder and murmured her name. She eventually looked away from Fenris before nodding.

"Everyone who is participating in this search—and I do mean _everyone_ —meets in the courtyard of the Gallows in one hour," she announced briskly. "If we don't find her within the hour, we'll . . . decide on another course of action there." She turned on her heel and marched away.

#

Fenris, Zevran, Maric and Sebastian disembarked from the small boat and entered the Gallows courtyard to find Aveline, Donnic, Varric, several off-duty guards and a pair of templars near some merchant stands.

"And she wasn't wearing armor or carrying weapons?" Knight-Captain Cullen asked Aveline incredulously.

She nodded with a sigh and dropped her chin, a few strands of her auburn hair falling loose around her tired face as they escaped her low ponytail. Noticing the newcomers from the corner of her eye, she looked up at Fenris with her query in her eyes, only to have her glimmer of hope dashed when she saw his thunderous expression.

Pacing now, Aveline said, "All right, let's see." Her eyes skimmed the courtyard, not focusing on anything specific, just giving in to a need to move some part of herself as she picked at the puzzle mentally. After a time, she stopped and turned toward the new arrivals once more.

"Fenris, did you two argue recently? Would she need some time to herself perhaps?"

"No."

"She wasn't angry or hurt?"

"No."

"You know how she conceals things when she doesn't want to burden others with personal matters."

Zevran crossed his arms over his chest while a muscle in the other elf's jaw twitched before he replied, "She was fine."

"There may be a lead we could follow from even the slightest of clues." She peered at the other warrior suspiciously. "It's important I know if something happened."

The elf's hands curled into fists; he took a calming breath before he bit off each word tersely when he said, "She. Did. _Not._ Seek. Escape. From. Me."

"Fenris—"

Every trace of Zevran's usual humor dropped from him immediately as he shouted, " _Braska!_ She spent the last few days in a haze of passion in a cabin in the middle of nowhere while he and I worshipped her from head to toe over and over and yet again until we depleted our supply of stamina and healing potions and were all too exhausted, too sore and too delirious from pleasure to continue." He stepped up to Aveline, his voice dipping in volume as he growled, "I have never seen her happier."

"Holy shit," Varric murmured.

"I–I . . . I didn't realize," a shocked Aveline stammered. She glanced over her shoulder to her husband, her expression one of anger mixed with hurt, then turned back to Fenris when Donnic looked away with guilt written on his face. "I just want to find her."

With steel in his eyes, Fenris replied, "As do I."

She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders and asked, "When did Hawke leave for the barracks?"

"Just after fourth evening bell."

"Right." She glanced up to the sky, using the oncoming darkness to estimate the time as she said, "Let's focus our efforts within the city limits first. We'll work from here." She turned to her audience. "Knight-Captain Cullen, determine if any templars saw her after that time. Sergeant Melindra and Guardswoman Eustice, I want you to find all city guards who were on duty. Today's roster should be on my desk if it's been replaced by tomorrow's schedule on the announcement board. Wake them up or hunt them down in brothels or taverns if you have to. Any that would like to join the search should report in here. I'll split everyone else into groups and assign sections of the city to search. We do this methodically, people. If you find her, return immediately. If not, stick to your designated area and regroup here in two hours time."

She took a deep breath and said, "Now, this may not . . . may not be a simple matter. We know Hawke has riled more than a few people during her time in this city. She hasn't been missing long, but considering who we're looking for, every one of us steps cautiously. No heroics. I want everyone alive and unharmed at the end of this. Understood?"

Her eyes swept through the small crowd, pausing briefly on each person assembled. "Donnic, I want you to go to the Hawke estate to let her servants know what's going on and to report in here immediately if she returns or more information is learned. Take Sebastian and Varric with you. The three of you are assigned to Hightown, including the Chantry, estates, market, Merchant's Guild and Red Lantern district. If you find any merchants or citizens lingering, question them casually about whether they've seen the Champion today."

She pointed to four city guards and said, "Guardswoman Brennan, you and three others take Lowtown, including the bazaar, foundry district, old city slums and elven alienage. Guardsman Maecon, you and three more," she turned to another group, "search Darktown, including the abandoned mining tunnels. Again, question citizens you come across."

She looked to Fenris and Zevran next. "You two, Maric and I are headed for the docks. It's a lot of warehouses, a lot of places to hide, I know."

"Nothing will keep me from her," Fenris growled before turning away to the small boats tied to a short pier outside the Gallows.

Those assembled watched as he descended the wide stone steps until his silvery white head disappeared from view, then turned back to Aveline when she said, "Two hours. Let's find her."

#

She wiggled her bare toes. Although dreadfully cold, she could feel them a little. She rotated her feet in small circles. Her ankles were functioning. She tensed her calves and noted they remained intact. She made her way up to her thighs, tensing and releasing the muscles there. She twitched her fingers and tilted her hands in tiny controlled movements to test her wrists and assess her arm muscles. Her knuckles and fingernails felt curiously raw and abused, but all digits remained attached. She inhaled deeply to check her abdomen and chest and nearly choked on a thick, musty stench. She tilted her head slightly on a stiffened neck and a sharp pain shot through her temples. She winced and then cringed yet again when her battered jaw let its presence be known, the pain slicing through her disorientation.

_Too much liquor?_

She squinted, attempting to open her eyes unsuccessfully, then lifted her hands to rub them only to discover her wrists unexpectedly heavy and hear the distinct clinking of metal as an object smacked her across the abdomen. Using her fingertips to feel for an answer, she found thick links of chain connected to manacles around her wrists. Each chain disappeared from her reach into the distance, presumably secured to something.

_Bar brawl gone wrong? Arrested maybe._

From somewhere in her mind, a vision of Fenris and Zevran rose, and she questioned why she'd be involved in a brawl or even at a tavern. She recalled a return to her estate from an old hunter's lodge now filled with light and laughter hidden in the foothills of Sundermount. Shivering, she let the warmth of her memories fill her in an effort to keep the chill at bay as she took stock of her situation. Moving slowly to keep the chains from clinking too loudly and perhaps drawing unwanted attention, she felt along her body to find herself stripped of all but her shirt and pants. In addition to her boots, her cloak and Bethany's kerchief she'd worn around her upper arm in remembrance since her death was gone. Also worn after the Deep Roads expedition and now absent, Grandmother Amell's wedding band, which usually hung from a slender decorative chain suspended from Hawke's belt. The small belt pouch in which she kept emergency potions, keys and the first practice letter Fenris had ever written for her was missing, too.

As the elf's face filled her thoughts, panic flooded her limbs when a draft caught something in front of her, brushing it against her nose. She nearly shrieked, but settled for batting at it with her fingers instead. She realized then she wore a full hood crafted of lightweight material. The truth wrenched her mind and turned her to stone, abruptly stilling her movements. Confirmation arrived upon her acknowledgment of the fact no prisoners called out or wailed in drunken despair and no guardsmen passed time with cards and gossip.

This was not a city jail cell.

#

He kept his rage barely contained as they progressed across the wharf, inspecting what felt like an endless amount of warehouses followed by even more warehouses. They still had two districts to go when the appointed time to return to the Gallows fell upon them. Fenris argued with his companions in favor of searching by himself while the others returned to check in, but Aveline and Zevran both refused to allow it, citing the odds of him being outnumbered and overwhelmed by Hawke's abductors, if indeed that was the case, or even groups of thugs known to the prowl the city at night if he continued alone. The glow of his tattoos combined with the moonlight to illuminate the area near to daytime as he stood nose-to-nose with Zevran, snarling a warning growl before the assassin's stern gaze and solid grip on his shoulders penetrated his panic-glazed mind. The threatening rumble languished within his chest as his green eyes stared into gold; a shudder quaked through him. The Antivan's warm fingers lifted to cup his cheeks, gentling as they did.

"We will find her," Zevran vowed, gazing intently into the desperation pooling in the other's eyes. "We'll bring her home and smother her in kisses and make her laugh and hold her close until she mocks us for behaving like little girls who finally found their lost kitten. Stay with me, warrior wolf."

#

They regrouped in the Gallows courtyard, faces lined with worry and mouths set in grim lines, but with shoulders squared and still determined. Sergeant Melindra, Guardswoman Eustice and several more guards now volunteering for the search waited near Donnic.

"How can this be?" Sebastian demanded, exasperated. "No one saw anything? Not even the city guards between her mansion and the Viscount's Keep?"

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Zevran murmured, "A mystery indeed."

"Anyone else find this ringing any bells?" Varric asked.

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Yes."

"Guards've been paid before to get their hands dirty, look the other way," the dwarf commented to Aveline.

Her emerald eyes sparked with malevolence as she said, "That thought has also crossed my mind. Sergeant Melindra, were you unable to locate any who had guard duty earlier today?"

"Just Guardsman Wright and Lieutenant Harley, Captain."

Knight-Captain Cullen stepped forward and said, "Guard-Captain, I'd like to join the search. I've not forgotten how she aided me in my own duties. It would be poor repayment to not offer whatever assistance I can provide in finding her."

"Is this the Order joining the search or you?" Aveline questioned.

"My offer is . . . personal. I submit to the city guard's jurisdiction, as this is not a matter for the Templar Order—yet. I will, however, have to tell Knight-Commander Meredith and Grand Cleric Elthina if she is not found soon."

"Understood," Aveline said.

"Thank you, Ser Cullen," Fenris unexpectedly offered.

The templar inclined his head respectfully in response.

"All right," Aveline said, "go with Guardsman Maecon and his team to Darktown. If you find nothing there, the five of you join Guardswoman Brennan and the others in Lowtown. Varric and Sebastian, I want you to finish searching Hightown, then head to Lowtown if there's still time before the next check-in. Donnic, you come with me to investigate the missing guardsmen. Guardswoman Lia, you remain here in case her uncle Gamlen Amell or her servants arrive with news. The dwarf Bodahn Feddic is the servant most likely to report in. Sandal, his son, resides there as well. She also employs an elf named Orana. The rest of you are with Fenris and Zevran at the docks, including Maric."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and murmured, "That gives us: Lia here, four then nine then eleven in Lowtown and nine for the warehouses." She glanced up at the night sky as the moon rode above, then heaved a sigh. "Maker, time is slipping away." Turning her attention back to gathered groups, she said, "Again, return immediately if you find her, and we'll send runners to the others to let them know. Otherwise, we meet back here in two hours."

Fenris reached the dock first again with Zevran and the war hound right behind him.

#

Beneath the sound of her thundering heart, she heard the night descending as animals settled and others awoke. An owl nearby and bull frogs elsewhere but also close began their songs as the chill in the air deepened. She managed to pry her crusted eyes open with sheer determination and watched through the threadbare weave of her hood as the somewhat comforting light of day gave way to the moon. Minutes later, a rumble of masculine voices drew closer, and she watched torchlight approach with anxiety twisting in her gut as she braced herself for the unknown.

"No one would know way out here!"

"Knock it off. You do anything other than follow his instructions, and you'll wish he'd skinned you alive."

Thick fingers gripped her upper arm and yanked her onto her feet. She stumbled, falling against her captor's barrel-like chest. He grunted and pushed her back several steps until her shoulder blades smacked against a solid surface.

_A wall perhaps or maybe a cliff face? Or a large tree?_

Unable to discern its nature based solely on the brief contact through the fabric of her shirt, she focused instead on her captors, noting the odor of a relatively clean sweat and the combined scents of soap, candle wax and incense.

_Not unwashed beggars or thugs. Perhaps laborers? Guards? Templars?_

"Please tell me what you want," she said quietly.

Her vision exploded with white as her head snapped back beneath an assault from a balled fist.

 _Being polite doesn't get me anywhere, I see. Or . . . well,_ don't _see._

"Shut up," the second masculine voice answered.

"Not the face, jackass," the first voice grunted. "Leave her pretty."

One of them spread her manacled wrists wide above her head. She heard the attached chains clink against metal as the links were drawn through rings to reduce the slack to mere inches, keeping her upright now.

"She's shivering. I could warm her up," the first voice said.

"Keep it in your pants; let's get this over with. I want out of here."

"So do I," Hawke said cheekily.

She heard a sigh, then the first voice murmured, "I wish that too, beautiful."

"I have a fan?" she asked.

The second voice laughed just before she heard a grunt and a brief scuffle.

"Enough," the second voice announced.

She listened to their retreating footsteps until they melted into the night.

_Apparently alone again. What else can I learn about my situation that may be helpful for escape?_

She gleaned little information before approaching footsteps grabbed her attention, the brisk gait eating through the relative safety of distance. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Moments later, the hood was yanked off her head. She blinked several times to clear her sight, then looked up into glacial green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. Long-term illness sucks. The bad days are nonproductive days.


	14. Ghosts of the Past

" _Fasta vass!_ " he shouted, clenching his fists. With his tattoos blazing from emotions threatening to explode and his cloak billowing behind him, he kicked at the battered metal door with his boot, slamming it open against the building as he exited another warehouse. The full moon peered down from her high perch above, mocking him with her serenity. He turned suddenly when Lia, the young elf they'd saved from a serial killer several years ago in an act which inspired her to take up weapon training and eventually join the city guard, sprinted down the wharf while calling for his attention.

"Serah Fenris!" she panted as she skidded to a halt in front of him just as Zevran emerged from the warehouse behind them. "Captain Aveline sent for you. Everyone is to return to base immediately."

A shudder wormed its way through his numb body at her words, then he raced to one of the boats used to ferry between the Circle of Magi's island prison-turned-sanctuary and other parts of Kirkwall as Zevran bellowed for the others to head to the Gallows, then followed on his heels.

#

"What do you want, Vanard?" She watched the aging politician with pasty skin walk up and down the same path in front of her. Noticeably thinner than when she'd last seen him, he appeared almost skeletal and couldn't seem to keep his fingers still as they repeatedly clenched into fists, an apparent attempt to conceal their trembling.

"Magistrate Vanard, if you please," he chastised in his irritatingly nasally voice she would have preferred going the rest of her life without ever hearing again. "No need to be impolite." After a pause in which he studied her briefly, he said, "I've been watching you over the years, Lady Hawke. Quite an eclectic group of acquaintances you keep. Captain of the Guard Aveline Vallen, accomplished soldier who escaped the Fifth Blight with you and your family and sought refuge here in Kirkwall, then joined the city guard and rose to lieutenant within her first year of service. A promising woman, until she exposed Captain Jeven's less-than-scrupulous dealings to the authorities and stole his job. I was sorely put out. How unfortunate my contacts continue to report she and the majority of her lackeys remain immune to bribes."

He stopped pacing and turned to look at her. "But only a majority. It is doubtful you could now recall the face of one Guardsman Wright seeing as he did not even tell you his name, but he certainly knows yours. It would seem he developed quite an infatuation the day you stepped off that ship from Gwaren, and he pointed you to then-Captain Ewald. Secretly lusting for a barbarian refugee all these years," he scoffed disdainfully, "admiring you from afar as you rose from the slums of Lowtown to reclaim your family's nobility, then battled the Qunari to save the city and earn the title of Champion—a romantic tale of a sort. How disappointed he was to discover your tastes lean more toward a—how shall I say this?—less civilized race. It was a small matter to convince him and his friends to capture you right there in broad daylight. I understand he got the better of you because you left yourself vulnerable with no armor and only a pair of small daggers hidden in your boots for weapons, humming, lost in thought, perhaps daydreaming about an object of infatuation of your own, hmm? Tsk, tsk, Lady Hawke. Someone with as many enemies as she has friends should not be so careless." His lips tilted with slight amusement as he added, "But all the better for me."

He paced again and said, "You travel with the likes of apostates, pirates, Dalish heathens and exiled princes-turned-Chantry brothers. You also free slaves and turn them into paid servants. That's bad for continued relations with the Tevinter Imperium, Lady Hawke; a business which requires diplomacy and tolerance of cultures and laws that are different than ours.

"Let us speak now of your fascination with elves. Specifically one white-haired, decorated lad. It is my understanding he is an escaped slave, the property of a Tevinter magister, is he not?" In the face of Hawke's glower, he appeared smug. "Oh yes, I know of your lover. I took notice of him in your company as you traipsed about the city, collecting misfits and sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Long before I requested your assistance apprehending a fugitive, I knew of you and your companions."

"Fugitive? Nug shit! Your _son_ spent years kidnapping, torturing and murdering elves—children!—for being 'too beautiful'," she sneered. "You're a magistrate! Your job is to protect everyone in this city, and that includes elves! But there was no justice to be had in Kirkwall for those poor victims and their families because the serial killer happened to be your own flesh and blood. You were too weak to do what needed to be done; you used your position to shield him from the consequences of his atrocious actions. He had to be stopped. I _don't_ regret his death for it has saved many other lives."

He pursed his lips, but otherwise ignored her tirade and continued his practiced speech, saying, "You see, I owned Captain Jeven even then. He was able to make a few inquiries for me." He narrowed his eyes as he gauged her reaction to his next words. "Magister Danarius. You know, I met his apprentice once right here in our beloved city a few years ago. Lovely woman. I wonder at the reward and profuse appreciation one would be offered if he were to return a magister's precious, lyrium-gifted slave?" His lips quirked into a smile, but his eyes remained carefully blank, unaffected by his amusement.

"I don't know how long you've been hiding under your rock, you slimy bastard," she scoffed, "but your information is outdated. Fenris is a free man. Not only is Danarius dead, but so is his apprentice as well as your informant Jeven, for that matter."

His eyes briefly flashed with rage, but a few heartbeats later, he tilted his head slightly and peered at her intently. "It matters not. I have riches enough. I would rather claim something else." He thrust his face up to hers. "His life for my son's."

With a growl, Hawke lunged forward, snapping at his nose with her teeth, but was pulled up short by the chains binding her wrists and ankles as the magistrate stepped back, laughing.

"But all in due time, Lady Hawke. Or shall I call you Lady Wolf now? It appears the elf, the magister's 'little wolf' has had ample opportunity to effect you. You're even more savage than I remembered." He studied her curiously for several moments, then said with a self-satisfied smile, "I have sent for your elf. While we wait for him to arrive, I have plans for the two of us. I look forward to tasting the tears of the famed Champion of Kirkwall."

Hawke's head fell back as she belted out a hearty laugh, one that began in her belly and rolled up and out of her, perhaps even touched with a note of hysteria if the only witness knew her well enough to detect it.

"You are not worthy of my tears."

#

Pacing before the two dozen reassembled searchers, Aveline gazed at Fenris as he hunched stiffly in the front of the group. Off to the side stood a frowning Bodahn wringing his hands nervously.

"It is as I feared," she announced. "She is a hostage."

Fenris blinked once and the tattoos previously dimmed to a soft glow burst into full light once more, basking the area in bluish-white. He gritted his teeth as fear gave way to a simmering fury quickly building to an all-consuming state. He inhaled deeply, calling forth his vanguard training as he forcefully shifted to a mighty battle-ready stance meant to utilize his emotions to augment his strength and fuel his movements in combat. He would use his rage to free her. He would perhaps allow himself to feel other things after, but for now, he embraced the lava churning inside.

"How do you know this, Aveline?" Sebastian inquired.

She pulled a folded piece of paper from a belt pouch and looked at Fenris again.

"A single bolt holding this paper shot into the front door of Hawke's estate. She is simply bait. The real target is you."

Fenris heard Zevran mutter a curse as he himself growled, "More slavers?"

"Likely," Aveline said. "I don't know for sure. Reconnaissance first, if possible, then rescue. We can't go in blind."

Zevran stepped forward and pointed to himself. "Master of stealth and evasion, specializing in both recon and assassination missions, at your service." It was a indication of the seriousness of the situation and his stress level that he did not give his customary smile and a cheeky bow with his offer.

"Not exactly subtle, however," Cullen murmured.

Zevran whipped around to glare at the Knight-Captain and said, "We may dance later if you like, templar, but for now, Hawke is more important."

The two stared at one another as the Chantry bell chimed eleven times in the distance.

"All right," Aveline said impatiently, "Bodahn, you may return home. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Donnic, Cullen, Lia, Maric and I will join Zevran for his recon in case backup is necessary. In the meantime, the rest of you remain here. I know it's getting late, but we may require aid. As soon as we know more, I'll send someone to brief you or release you. Sergeant Melindra's in charge during my absence."

"Yes, Captain," the sergeant replied with a salute.

#

"How much longer can observing take?" Fenris growled softly beneath the hooded cloak concealing his tattoos, one visible gauntlet curled into a fist.

Although Maric turned his head to peer up at him, no verbal reply met the sixth occurrence of his question. Mentally, he catalogued: his arms ached for their emptiness, his chest couldn't tighten any more without constricting his breathing, the lumpy sensation in his throat made swallowing difficult. Outwardly, his jaw twitched and the determination in his eyes glinted like jewels, but his back was now straight, his shoulders squared and his head held high. He scanned the area, alert for Zevran's return. Just when he felt on the verge of screaming for this lack of action, his chest loosened slightly when he finally sensed what he'd been waiting for. He rejoined the others gathered at the base of the hill and waited for the assassin to slip from the shadows.

"We do not have long, my friends. She is chained, bare to the autumn moonlight in nothing more than her underclothes, teeth chattering and"—his eyes flicked toward Fenris—"has lost what appears to be a large amount of blood. It's all over her." Zevran's hand grasped the warrior's forearm when another growl thundered in his chest. "She is exhausted, flagging physically. I do not know how much longer she can continue, but in spirit, she is still the saucy minx we know her to be." With a hint of pride shining in his voice, he explained, "She is keeping him on his toes with their verbal sparring, refusing to scream or give him tears each time he turns his blade on her."

"Oh, Hawke, " Aveline breathed with a mix of awe and exasperation. "Goading him is not going to help her situation. Any identification for this man?"

Zevran shook his head, but said, "I did hear her call him an impotent knobtwat, to which he insisted the lady wolf would tame her savagery and politely and respectfully call him Magistrate."

"A magistrate?!" Cullen hissed incredulously.

Aveline and Fenris glanced at one another, but it was Varric who spoke what was on their minds. "What was the name of that . . . Kelder? The serial killer who's father was a magistrate?"

"Vanard," Fenris supplied.

"Could this be him?" Varric continued. "He did threaten her several years ago. That vendetta's been simmering for a while."

Lia pressed a hand to her stomach, looking slightly ill as her slender shoulders shuddered against the rush of her own memories. "Is he as crazy as his son maybe?"

Zevran placed his free hand on Lia's and said, "It doesn't matter. He will die just as his son did."

"This isn't an assassination, Zevran," Aveline corrected. "Lawful justice will be served."

"The same way justice was served by the courts for the elves his son killed, yes?" Zevran retorted sarcastically. "Hawke had to step in because the justice system failed its citizens."

"Agreed," Fenris rumbled decisively. "He dies slowly, painfully."

"His death is for the courts to decide," Aveline argued.

When Donnic and Cullen moved to stand behind her in a show of support, Varric and Sebastian suddenly found themselves caught between two factions.

Varric shook his head in disgust. "May I remind you that while you're having this pissing contest, Hawke is dying from exposure as well as blood loss, while the 'knobtwat' makes it as painful as possible? Get your heads out of your asses and let's get this show on the road."

"Varric's right," Sebastian said. "Hawke must be our focus now; the magistrate is secondary. Zevran, details? Terrain, head count, weapon types, placement?"

Zevran nodded, releasing Lia and Fenris both as he stooped to draw a map in the mud by the light of the moon indicating the number and positions of Vanard's men.

#

He drew the curved boning blade across her ribs, forming a superficial wound that bled without penetrating deep enough to part muscle as he counted each rib he crossed with his knife, marring Zevran's art. She bit her bloodied bottom lip, focused on her mental image of Fenris's face and measured her breathing through the pain, uttering no sound beyond the smallest grunt when the wound first began to form.

"Come now, what purpose does it serve to keep those delicious tears and"—he shuddered as he leered at her—"screams locked inside?"

She chuckled, then answered through chattering teeth, "It m-makes you angry; that al-lone is reason enough to deny y-you. I will not submit t-to you."

_Just a little longer. Make him work for it a little longer._

Flint sparked in his eyes as he backhanded her face. "But you do know how to submit. I see the evidence. The whip marks on your shoulder blades and backside. The bites. Here." He touched the side of her neck. "And here." He touched her between her legs, the bruise there located where her hip and inner thigh met. "Did _he_ do that to you? Is that what the wild elf and savage barbarian enjoy doing to one another? Should I search for more?"

She schooled her features into a mask of passivity. He sneered at her, then clamped a hand over the tattoo on her hip.

"A human noble such as yourself, southern bumpkin though you may be, has no business consorting with elves. Knife-ears are not like humans. That is why we corral them in alienages, after all—to keep them from skittering underfoot like the vermin they are. Perhaps I should remove this disgraceful defacement for I know the real beast it represents." He pinched her, scraping his nails across the skin art harshly without drawing blood, then suddenly turned away. He took several steps toward the exit path through a stand of trees, but turned before crossing it and lifted a wooden bucket from which water droplets escaped. "Let us see how you fare in less pleasant conditions, Champion."

When he poured the bucketful over her in a steady stream, she gasped and arched away from it, to no avail. The manacles held her firmly in place as her shivers increased to violent, body-wracking quakes. Hissing through clenched teeth, she set her jaw and brought Fenris's face back to the foreground of her mind.

"I-I have known l-love, affection, f-friendship, d-devotion," she rasped in labored stutters, "the likes of which y-you w-will n-n-never c-comprehend. I have f-found j-joy in others and d-done what I-I c-c-can to make their lives b-better in ret-t-turn. I will be r-remembered and live on in the h-h-hearts of others that care about m-me. I am c-content to go to my d-death t-t-tonight if the M-Maker wills it, but I w-will n-not do s-so s-subm-mitting to the likes of y-you. You w-will not earn m-my tears bef-fore this body f-fails me!"

She watched him draw a dagger from a sheath at his belt, but lost the thread of comprehension she'd been clinging to as her heart convulsed and flopped over in her chest when the air rushed from her lungs. Her bloodied, swollen lips parted while she struggled for breath in the frigid air as she stared at what had to be a mirage stepping from the trees. Her body suddenly sagged against her restraints as her supply of adrenaline reached its end.

"The Maker does not will your death tonight."

The magistrate pivoted on his heel, knife still in one hand and dagger in the other as a swordless Fenris looked beyond him to the drenched woman chained to a boulder.

"At last," Vanard crowed. He tilted his head to study the wary elf, then said, "You know, if Hawke had simply returned my son as asked, this would not have happened. You both would still be free to . . . mark your territory or whatever it is you do together. However, she chose to take my son's life, so I choose—"

"I killed your son," Fenris stated. "He begged Hawke to end his life, but I took it myself."

Shock replaced the smugness on the magistrate's face.

"Fitting that justice for the elves he killed be delivered by an elven hand, isn't it?" Fenris lifted his gauntlet-covered fist and narrowed his eyes. "A hand through the chest."

The magistrate glared at the elf and said, "I'll enjoy killing your feral mate in front of you—slowly." Nearby, the sudden clash of metal against metal and shouted curses could be heard. Seemingly oblivious to the ruckus, or at least uncaring, he said, "After, I'll do the same to you even more slowly."

"I think not," a lilting accent chided quietly behind him. When he had the politician's attention, Zevran smiled slowly and purred, "There is one detail about our dear Champion you seem to have overlooked. She has not one elven lover . . . ," holding up a pair of fingers, he gleefully added, "but two. Now, Knobtwat . . . . Your name is Impotent Knobtwat, yes? I believe that is how the lady referred to you earlier? Knobtwat, you may either lay down your weapons now or . . . we shall dance. What would you like? I, in particular, am feeling rather frisky tonight, so would not mind a bit of entertainment. Our lady here, however, will not wait for your answer, so our friends will tend to her immediately."

As Varric and Sebastian moved into view and set to work picking the locks on Hawke's manacles, the magistrate—armored in only his cloak of desperation and reeling from the swift dismantling of his sophomoric plan—rushed Zevran with nothing more than an enraged cry and his simple blades. Lyrium tattoos blazed to life once more, and Fenris charged across the small battlefield, knocking the man to the ground, gripping his throat threateningly just as Aveline and Donnic descended upon them with shields up and swords drawn.

"You dare try to take her from me," Fenris ground out through clenched teeth.

"Stand down, Fenris," Aveline commanded.

Quaking with rage as his control visibly crumbled, his fingers clenched tighter in response as the talons of his gauntlet pierced skin. The magistrate's complexion quickly turned a multitude of shades of ever-deepening red and purple when Fenris lifted him to a kneeling position. Glaring into the politician's bulging, watering eyes, his snarl deepened to a full-throated growl.

"Fenris!" Aveline barked. "Don't force my hand. Stand. Down. _Now._ "

"She is mine to defend. I will not fail her again."

Donnic lowered his sword and moved into the elf's line of sight.

"You would do the same for Aveline," Fenris told him.

"She needs you," Donnic said quietly. "Leave him to us and go to her."

The warrior elf's eyes moved to Zevran, and they exchanged a weighted look before Fenris wrenched his grip from the magistrate's jugular, allowing him to collapse into a wheezing, gasping heap at his feet. Aveline and Donnic took him into custody and corralled him with his accomplices—a city guard, a templar and two civilians supervised by Cullen and Lia. Fenris and Zevran turned away to find Sebastian lowering a semi-conscious Hawke to the ground as Varric doffed his cloak and tucked it around her exposed body. Shifting from what remained of his eroded combat stance and giving in to a sliver of his panic as he stripped his gauntlets off, Fenris nearly knocked the others over in his rush to reach her.

"Sera," he croaked hoarsely as he knelt over her, briskly rubbing her arms as his eyes swept over her visible wounds.

One hand escaped the confines of the enveloping cloak and lifted to his cheek, the manacle-damaged skin of her wrist seeping blood through lacerations not yet crusted with ice. Her lower lip oozed another bead of red when she smiled up at him as her frozen fingertips moved against his warm skin in an attempt to stroke soothingly.

"My h-heart, p-promise m-m-me we'll g-g-go s-somep-place w-warm s-soon. May m-maybe th-the j-jungles of S-Seheron? I've w-want-ted t-to m-meet F-fog Warriors and s-see the t-t-tigers y-you t-t-talk ab-bout for a l-long t-time."

She slipped into the seductive embrace of darkness.


	15. Trinity?

A quiet rumble toppled through her skull as consciousness reclaimed her when her cheek vibrated. Careful to control her breathing and give no outward appearance of awakening, she kept her eyes closed while investigating the situation with her ears and nose. Almost immediately, relief suffused her limbs. A lump formed in her throat when she identified the comforting scent of _them_ —both of them. She then recognized the quiet thunder for what it was: Fenris speaking softly as she lay with her ear pressed to his chest.

"The guard shift changes at ten bells tonight. Are you certain you wish to go alone?"

She heard Zevran's chuckle directly above her before the Antivan said, "An assassin's job is often a lonely endeavor, my dear warrior, but I enjoy the thrill of it. When done well, the rush is much like making love."

She felt a fingertip caress the shell of her ear, followed by a brush of warm breath as her hair was drawn away, then Zevran lifted his head once more and said, "Stay with our lady and allow me to do this."

Her eyes popped open; she blinked at the close proximity of white lines swirling across the expanse of Fenris's chest. She swallowed with a painful throat and through cracked yet no longer bleeding lips, she rasped, "The pound of flesh is mine to take."

She felt both sets of eyes fall upon her face, but Fenris spoke first. "You will lose this argument, Seraphina," he warned.

She looked up at him, blinking slowly as she surveyed his frowning lips. She extracted one hand from beneath the quilt spread over the three of them to brush back a lock of white hair falling across his furrowed brow, noticing the tender pink scar around her wrist as she did.

"Do I need to remind you both that I submit to you only in private?" she asked with a small smile and a raised eyebrow.

"It is not about you submitting to our will," he argued.

"With a little more rest and healing, I will be strong enough to do this myself. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need you to be my avengers." She leaned back slightly to look over her shoulder at Zevran and added, "Either of you."

"I do," Fenris replied. When she turned to look at him again, he gazed into her eyes determinedly as he said, "For every wound he inflicted, for every drop of your blood he spilled, for every moment of fright and worry. For the unforgettable look in your eyes when you saw me arrive—one he sought to extinguish. He is not allowed to harm my Sera only to be rewarded with an easy death. My faith is not with the Kirkwall justice system. Hope of justice rests with Zevran in this matter."

The elf behind her reached up to trail his knuckle lightly over the tender flesh beneath her blackened eye; when she looked up at him again, Zevran leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

"Can I afford the likes of a former Crow assassin?" she asked with a twinkle returning to her eyes.

He chuckled and replied, "Ah, little minx, we can discuss a mutually satisfying payment plan as soon as you are up for it."

Fenris snorted, a tiny curve playing at the edge of his lips.

Her face grew solemn as she said to them both, "Words are not enough, but . . . thank you. I was certain I was hallucinating when I saw you both." She looked from green eyes to gold and back again. "I am blessed with guardians."

Fenris leaned down and pressed his lips to hers gently, then pulled back to let his eyes roam her still-battered face. "How are you?"

She took a moment to assess her physical state, then said, "I think even my hair hurts and am looking forward to a visit from a Circle healer or two, but I am tucked in my bed between the two most delicious elves in all of Thedas, comfortably toasty and most definitely alive. I cannot complain." She hummed thoughtfully and added, "Plus, I discovered something about myself." When Zevran simply waited silently and Fenris arched an eyebrow inquiringly, she continued. "It isn't bondage itself that interests me, but being bound by the two of you." With a sparkle of humor in her eyes, a quirk to her lips and an exaggerated, haughty tone, she said, "Clearly, my tastes are unquestionably sophisticated for musty old magistrates just don't do it for me."

#

Early the next afternoon, Aveline marched into Hawke's residence carrying a small crate. "I have your recovered belongings here." She sifted through the items. "A pair of boots, Bethany's kerchief, one belt, one jewelry chain with a ring on it, belt pouch, potions, couple of keys and . . . ," lips almost curving into a smile, she added, "one treasured letter from Fenris."

He raised both eyebrows and glanced in Hawke's direction, who blushed lightly and bit her bottom lip while dodging his gaze. She didn't interfere when he reached for the folded parchment. He read it quickly, then turned the fragile paper over in his hands, inspecting the creases and aging condition of an often-read and much-cherished memento while she recited the contents in her mind.

>   _Seraphina*,_
> 
> _Thenk yoo for teechng me to reed and rite._
> 
> _Fenris_

With his jaw noticeably twitching and a pleased twinkle in his eye that might have even bordered on smug, he carefully folded it and offered it to her silently. Without meeting his gaze, she took it from him and tucked it into the belt pouch.

Sobering, Aveline said, "We found Lieutenant Harley. You know, Hawke, she truly didn't believe she and her men would make it away from the Wounded Coast alive before you happened across them that day, rallied them and helped them defeat Evets Marauders. I couldn't believe she'd be involved in your abduction—and she wasn't. Wright killed her when she discovered what was happening and tried to interfere."

Hawke shook her head sadly. "Please let me know when her memorial is to be held."

Aveline nodded, then shifted into her clipped, no-nonsense tone when she asked, "Now, where is that assassin?"

"Ah, I think it is never a good thing when the captain of the city guard asks after me," he commented as he appeared behind her. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes. You. Vanard and his accomplices were found dead this morning in my jail. What have you to say for yourself?"

Zevran clucked his tongue. "He should have been more careful. I hear the rats in that jail are six feet tall and very hungry."

She glared at him and said, "He died in a curious fashion. The accomplices had broken necks, but Vanard . . . ." She narrowed her eyes. "Do the words 'Antivan Tickler' or 'Antivan Cat's Paw' mean anything to you?"

"All right," he replied, shrugging, "I suppose I could roll around on the floor, batting at a ball of yarn if that is your fetish, dearest Aveline, or even tie you up and find interesting ways to use a feather on you until you scream in delightful release. However, a question: what of your husband? He is voyeur or participant? Not that I mind either way, you see, for I also enjoy a man in uniform, but to sate my curiosity."

A muscle in her jaw jerked before she said, "If I find proof of your involvement, you'll meet those rats yourself, Zevran. An Antivan torture device was used on a city official awaiting trial, and you're an Antivan assassin with a personal vendetta."

"You've so little faith in my abilities as an assassin that you believe I would use a torture device known to be Antivan in design? So well-known, in fact, as to identify myself by using it on someone you know I wish dead?" He pouted. "You wound me."

"Aveline," Hawke interrupted, "what about the guards on duty?"

The guardswoman glowered at the Antivan elf as he strolled through the room nonchalantly to stand near Hawke and Fenris before she replied. "I had Vanard isolated, on a floor by himself to keep order. The whole lot of guards was found locked in a supply closet on another floor entirely, stripped naked with their clothes nowhere to be found, hungover with a number of empty liquor bottles scattered among them, unable to recall anything from eleventh bell onward."

"Oh," Hawke replied, carefully schooling her features into a concerned mask while not daring a glance at either elf.

Aveline pointed her finger at the blond elf and commanded, "Stay in Kirkwall." She glanced at Fenris and added, "Both of you. This isn't over."

The elven warrior's face remaining passive was his only response, but Zevran inclined his head respectfully and replied, "I shall await your next visit with bated breath. Fare you well."

As the exterior door slammed behind the Guard-Captain, Hawke and Fenris both glanced at Zevran. They followed him into the study next to the sofa along the far wall into which folded his form gracefully.

"What really happened to the guards?" she asked.

With a smug smile, he captured her hand in his, tugging until she sat on his lap with an arm around his shoulders and her back against the armrest.

"An assassin does not reveal his methods, dearest Hawke, but I will say they likely found certain body parts well-used, perhaps sore and chafed, when they awoke from their stupors. Who is to say what grown men do behind locked doors when 'boredom' overtakes them, hmm?" He played with a lock of her hair, then mused aloud, "You know, legend says a drop of orichalcum mixed in wine serves as a potent aphrodisiac. An interesting tidbit of information, is it not? Much like a desire demon, I suppose, in liquid form. It does not plant desire; it simply . . . encourages it."

Fenris sat down beside them, settling Hawke's bare feet over his legs as he asked, "Its effect isn't undone by orichalcum's pungent and presumably distracting odor?"

Zevran hummed thoughtfully. "Can you imagine if a bottle or two of that delightful hallucinogenic _aquae lucidius_ also happened to be stored in that same supply closet? I suppose one could be made to forget such an unpleasant fragrance in favor of more entertaining matters." He pursed his lips. "However would they find their modesty again after such debauchery?"

Hawke and Fenris shared a look before she asked Zevran, "And the Antivan Tickler?"

Zevran's fingertips brushed across the side of Hawke's neck and she shivered, earning her a small smile from him before he sobered.

"He was in great pain when he died. That is all I will say on the matter. Do not concern yourself with the details."

"So you did, in fact, use it? Despite its ties to your homeland?" Fenris asked with a curious frown.

"Ah, but that is precisely why I did." Zevran grinned and nodded. "It allowed me to plant that seed of doubt in Aveline's mind. No matter the chosen method, I knew you and I would be her primary suspects in his murder, so why not choose something so ludicrously bold for a known assassin as to cast doubt on the theory's validity? My mentor described the tactic as 'controlling the situation with cleverness disguised as flagrant stupidity'." His hand covered the other elf's as it rested on Hawke's shin, then he said, "As for you, my dear warrior, you have Hawke as an alibi. Given the _clamor_ coming from her bedroom when I returned just before dawn, I dare say her servants are also able to vouch for your whereabouts."

Fenris huffed his amusement, unable to hide the pleased smile tugging at his lips.

"Is that why you slept in his bedroom this morning?" Hawke asked.

Zevran nodded. "We are quite a trio, little minx, but even I understand a man in love needs to reassure himself his lady is well after such an experience. A time for two, not three."

She kissed his cheek, then laid her head against his shoulder with a smile. She caught Fenris watching her; the warmth in his gaze washed over her as her smile became a grin.

"You must have heard the grand finale, Zev. He was gentle, patient, very sweet."

"Magical healing took most of your injuries, but you are still recovering from blood loss," Fenris explained quietly.

He reached over to take her hand and tugged gently. She slid from Zevran's lap to straddle his where he gathered her close, his arms tight about her waist. He pressed his forehead to hers, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He sighed contentedly when strong, nimble fingers massaged the back of his neck and shoulders, then reciprocated by sliding his hand along Zevran's thigh, squeezing lightly. His other hand slipped down to cup Hawke's ass as she nibbled his earlobe.

"Perhaps it's his turn to be in the middle?" she whispered, then pulled back to watch Fenris consider her suggestion before he nodded his consent. She smiled and returned her attention to his ear while his hand crept toward Zevran's crotch. Heavy-lidded golden eyes watched Hawke's hips wiggle against Fenris while her tongue and teeth continued teasing his sensitive ears as Zevran's own hips tilted upward when Fenris's palm grazed his hardening cock.

When Zevran released a groan from deep in his chest, Hawke stood up and said, "Let's not take the chance of traumatizing Sandal or Orana."

With a lazy grin that foretold of an afternoon filled with pleasure, Zevran took each of them by the hand and led them upstairs.

#

Hawke observed from the opposite side of the bed with a lustful smile plucking at her lips as her lovers pressed their bodies together with hands gripping bare ass cheeks, cocks rubbing against one another, tongues entangling, growls of want answering sensual purrs. She'd worried how Fenris might react to her suggestion even after Zevran woke him creatively the first night they all spent together for they kept her between them each time since, but was pleased to see he'd risen to the occasion rather enthusiastically. She supposed giving him a distinct opportunity to decline and not challenging the alpha role he'd claimed in their relationship dynamic made the difference between Fenris enjoying himself or suffering horrible flashbacks from years spent as the enslaved recipient of his former master's often cruel cravings.

She stopped musing when Fenris released Zevran and circled around him to stand with his chest pressed against the other elf's back. He studied her over Zevran's shoulder as one of his hands wrapped around Zevran's cock and settled into rhythmic stroking. After a few moments, Fenris pointed to the bed in front of them. Her smile grew into a grin as she crawled across the mattress on her hands and knees.

"Reveal this goddess's true form," Fenris commanded quietly in Zevran's ear as his hand continued to move over engorged flesh.

Hawke held her kneeling position patiently as her clothes swept away beneath Zevran's determined hands. Moments evaporated unnoticed while she happily indulged each delicious shiver he drew from her as his fingertips glided over her skin, caressing both smooth and scarred flesh with the same reverence. Her eyes fell to the lyrium-lined hand squeezing the head of Zevran's cock, collecting an opalescent drop of fluid from the tip. Her lips parted slightly when his thumb rose to her mouth; her eyes locked onto his as he painted her lower lip with the taste of Zevran. Her tongue darted out as if to collect his offering, but a thunderous growl and stern look from Fenris had it quickly retreating behind her teeth once more.

Both blue eyes and gold watched with interest as Fenris gathered more fluid from Zevran's cock to press a wet thumbprint to each of her nipples, then left a dot just above her mound. He pushed against her shoulder lightly, indicating she should lie back across the bed, then nudged her thighs apart to mark the inside of each near her center. Green eyes held hers even as he leaned closer to Zevran's ear and once more issued a command.

"Feast."

As Zevran knelt over her to smooth the tip of his tongue across her lower lip before drawing her into a kiss, Fenris moved to the opposite side of the bed. He leaned in nip the outer edge of her ear with his teeth, sending a shiver down her spine, then collected both of her hands from where they'd buried themselves in the blond's hair. He pulled them both above her head, then tied them together with the worn fabric from his own wrist. To that, he added another strip of material and secured it to the bed frame to keep her arms in place. By the time Fenris returned to stand behind the Antivan, Zevran had Hawke breathing erratically as he licked her nipples clean.

Warrior hands wandered across the planes of Zevran's lithe body as he watched Hawke's arousal blossom eagerly beneath the other elf's touch. She squirmed and lifted her hips toward Zevran when his mouth found its way to the thumbprint above her mound as she bit her lip in anticipation. To her growing frustration and increasing whimpers, Zevran refrained from straying beyond the designated areas, instead suckling each spot on her inner thighs. With a pleased tilt of his lips, Fenris captured a handful of Zevran's hair and tugged purposefully until he straightened.

"Well done," Fenris commented as he released him and let his roughened palm glide over the side of the other man's neck to stroke his thumb just below his ear.

Zevran smirked and said, "One does not survive in the Antivan Crows if one cannot be commanded. I can be obedient when it suits me—and pleasure suits me."

Chuckling, Fenris drew him into a brief kiss, then rubbed his cheek along Zevran's and whispered, "Pleasure her now as she desires, but she is not to reach her peak until three become one."

With a sly grin, Zevran bent to his task, trailing the flickering tip of his tongue along her inner thigh once more. As he edged closer to his target, her head fell back against the bed, and she parted her legs wider in offering. He lifted his head and ran his thumbs just outside her folds, studying her glistening skin as he captured a lubricating drop and painted her with it. He suddenly collected her taste with his flattened tongue, swirling its velvety surface over the entrance of her slick channel as she gasped.

"So sweet, little minx," he purred over her low moan as her lashes fluttered.

Zevran's hands pressed on her knees, keeping them spread wide when his tongue curled around her clitoris this time as he suckled the swollen bud while tattooed fingers skimmed over the Antivan's raised rump, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. A moment later, a handprint reddened his ass as the sting delivered by the warrior's palm radiated to warm the surrounding flesh until the pain eventually dissipated. A calloused fingertip stroked over his puckered hole several times just before his other cheek received a swat of its own. Fenris bent to place little bites across Zevran's lower back and ass as one hand reached down to massage the blond elf's sensitive sac and stroke his perineum. As Zevran paused in his suckling to groan appreciatively around a writhing Hawke's clitoris, Fenris dipped his other hand into a jar of lubricant, then set to work massaging and stretching, preparing him to receive.

"Zev . . . please," Hawke panted.

Both elves chuckled in response, but neither heeded her begging.

She muttered a curse through gritted teeth, then demanded, "Someone fuck me already."

Zevran pulled back and looked up at her flushed face with a grin as he said, "You sound like Isabela, my dear."

She growled at him, then swore beneath her breath again just as Fenris pulled his fingers from Zevran's ass and both straightened once more. His heated green gaze sizzled its way over her bared body—from her lust-clouded eyes to her erect nipples, down to her throbbing clitoris and finally to the moisture gleaming against her inner thighs and dribbling from her cunt—possessing her as thoroughly as if he'd entered her physically.

"As the goddess wishes," Fenris said quietly.

At his nod, Zevran moved over her once more as she tilted her hips to guide him immediately into her channel. Her head fell back against the bed once more as her eyes closed and her relieved moan entwined with the purr he released. He propped her legs over his bent knees, sinking into her farther as he moved closer. She opened wider while his thighs did the same, giving Fenris his target. His tongue flicked across her lips, requesting entrance as Fenris slowly eased his lubricated length into Zevran's tight hole. By the time Fenris buried himself fully, Zevran worked frantically to lose himself in a whimpering Hawke's kiss as sweat beaded on his skin while he trembled from the effort of remaining still even as she squirmed desperately, seeking friction.

With his hands on Zevran's hips, Fenris began a restrained pace, rocking Zevran inside her as he moved inside the other elf, building slowly to let the other adjust to his intruding girth. His eyes sought Hawke when Zevran pulled back from their kiss and dropped his forehead to her chest, leaving them both gasping as each thrust came faster than the last. Fenris slowed his thrusts for a time during which Zevran hooked her legs over his shoulders; his hands slipped beneath her ass, raising her hips to receive each stroke even deeper as the glow of lyrium tattoos brightened and Fenris quickened his thrusts again, pistoning while sweat slicked them all. The sound of labored breaths sawing in and out of straining lungs matched the thunderous beat of erotic indulgence delivered in the form of three pounding hearts as Fenris alternated between frantic fucking that brought them all close to the brink and teasing strokes that eased them back from the edge once more.

As if the first of their numerous encounters was simply a rehearsal for this performance to replay, ecstasy eventually overwhelmed Hawke first. With her toes curling as wave after delicious wave rolled through her quivering body, her cunt sucked at Zevran's cock greedily until the relentless onslaught set his own release exploding into her depths with Fenris not far behind. Gulping for air as they collapsed beside Hawke on the bed, Fenris lay against Zevran's side as the Antivan reached up lazily to release her bound wrists with an ease born of practice. Turning onto her side to face the elves, she kissed Zevran gently as Fenris tossed an arm across them both and rested a hand on her hip while their sweat-dampened bodies began to cool.

#

Late that afternoon, still warm from a bath, Hawke lounged against a pile of pillows in her bed and let her fingertips sweep along the shell of a pointed ear, down the side of a neck lined with lyrium and ink, then over a bare shoulder blade. Arms encircling her lower belly, keeping the quilt otherwise covering them trapped beneath it and her chest bared, Fenris dozed with his cheek pillowed against her breast. Meanwhile, Zevran used a sharp blade to apply the finishing touches to the renewed artwork of their entwined initials beneath her other breast, the first having been marred by the magistrate, then removed beneath a healer's magical touch. Gazes of blue and gold lifted to the door when it opened unexpectedly to admit an unannounced guest who sauntered toward the bed with her hands on her hips and dark eyes glinting in the firelight.

"So, you not only refuse to share Fenris, but now you're fucking my lover, too?"

"She _is_ sharing me," Fenris argued, his quiet growl muffled against Hawke's skin, "just not with you."

Grinning, Hawke asked, "Jealous, Isabela?"

The buxom pirate threw her hands up in exasperation and paced beside the bed as she pouted, "Yes, damn it! Why does Zev get all the fun? I want to play with you and Fenris, too!"

Chuckling, Zevran turned and pulled her onto his lap. With a solid smack of his hand on her ass, he said, "Welcome back, siren of the sea."

Grinning, she planted an exaggerated smooch on his lips, then turned to look at Hawke and Fenris once more. Her dark eyes fell on Zevran's design, but before she spoke, Hawke did.

"I don't know whether to strangle you or hug you, Bela." Her gaze dipped; she arched an eyebrow. "Dare I ask what's peeking out of your cleavage?"

Isabela plucked folded parchment from between her breasts and handed it over as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and said, "You noticed, did you? I intercepted Bodahn's delivery of this message for you."

Hawke broke the wax seal and opened it one-handed as her other remained filled by Tevinter elf. She scanned the hastily-written missive and sighed.

"It appears the clash between the templars and mages is in the midst of exploding, beginning with the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter. The Champion is officially summoned to the Gallows immediately."

Fenris lifted his head at last, brow furrowed and frown on his lips. She met his worried gaze and said, "No rest for the wicked. Would any of you care to join me?"

As if she had to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yes, I imagine her name and his being the first two he learned to spell properly. Priorities!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is welcome.


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